


the loneliness between our bones

by Gee_Writes



Series: Greater Than Myth [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Anxiety, Big Bang!!! on Ice, Country-relevant Supernatural Creatures, Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Fate, Lack of Communication, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, Love, M/M, References to Depression, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-21 18:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13746753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gee_Writes/pseuds/Gee_Writes
Summary: Viktor is reborn in a lake under the full moon. Deep in the midst of winter, the snows of Russia cover the world in white as he takes his first breaths of the icy air. It has been four centuries since his most recent death, and he wakes to a frozen moment.





	the loneliness between our bones

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/writinggee)!!

Viktor is reborn in a lake under the full moon. Deep in the midst of winter, the snows of Russia cover the world in white as he takes his first breaths of the icy air. It has been four centuries since his most recent death, and he wakes to a frozen moment.

The ice brings no chill to his skin as he emerges from his deathly slumber - the upper frozen layer of the lake parting once he reaches the surface - and he feels no need to protect himself from the harsh winds of Siberia. Someone sits at the edge of the lake, watching him with a smile, and he smiles back. The soft, flowing hair the colour of sunlight indicating they are kin - he of the water, she of the field. She does not wear the light muslin gowns of ages past, but instead is wrapped in thick fleece and furs, much finer than he can ever remember. Eyes the colour of green forests watch as he finally reaches the shoreline, and he tilts his head in inquisition. When Vila are reborn, it is tradition for the community to bear witness and welcome the return. With only one, from the fields afar, he is surprised that only four centuries of time has broken the millennia of tradition.

"Welcome back. There is much to explain."

She seems to understand the confusion he feels, and pats beside herself for him to sit. The stars are bright in the inky skies, the moon hanging low, but much of the surrounding light is emanating from a small box between their legs. These past four centuries were the longest break he's taken from the death and rebirth cycle, and it is obvious that much has happened in that stretch of time, not only for humanity, but also for the Fae and Otherworldly.

"I am surprised you ventured so far from the fields to welcome me." The snowy surrounds muffle much of the night's noises, but Viktor's voice dances on the wind as it always had.

"We are no longer stuck to our lands, my friend. It has been many decades since the fields were filled with fae. Humanity has grown, and the world is much smaller in its vastness."

"How so?"

"There is a much larger world to find, now. Lands of only sand, where the ground erupts, that rain but never snow. Humanity has grown to far outnumber us now, and many of our kin have moved on to new places as we lose our homes, or are driven out by fear." Shadows cross across her face at a memory he has no part in, far from the frivolous nature expected of the Vila. Taking another moment before she continues, she smiles wide again. "I remain to welcome back the reborn and explain, as there is much to know about life now."

It's exciting, with so much new to discover. He had chosen his death in part due to the tedium of life making him weary, and had hoped there would be much to enjoy once he returned. A completely new world is exactly what he had wanted, and he can't wait to hear more.

 

 

*

St Petersburg is noisy beyond belief with transport and conversation as the crush of humanity surrounds him. The city was established after his death, but you would hardly know it - sprawling and huge, filled with a history he took no part in. He had died during an era of famine and strife, fueled by conflict. Under Tsar Mikhail Romanov and his father Filaret, the Tsardom had seemed in the throes of imminent collapse, but those days seem a distant echo now.

The Registry for Otherworldly and Legendary Creatures sits in the middle of the city, and it's been a long five years since Viktor first found himself there, applying for acknowledgement of his existence. Long hair tied back, and newly fitted suit and coat blending into the crowd of people around, he can almost pass for a human if not for the sharp stares that follow him. The bewitching poise of his movements draws attention, even if many of the regular human populace wouldn't realise why.

He makes it to the offices far later than he'd hoped - stopped by a group of fans wanting an autograph or photo - and there is a line ahead of him. The mix of individuals range from Rarógs to Leshy, all in various states of impatience as they wait to be served. There's a high chance of being cursed if he gets too close to any of the more irate beings, so deftly avoids them once collecting a ticket. Rechecking the bag he brought with him for all his paperwork, he sits patiently waiting, half-watching the television as it flickers with dull afternoon programming.

When his name is called, the gruff man behind the desk looks as if he could bowl a wall down with his flat stare alone. The plaque on his desk shares his name, but Viktor is already well acquainted with the other man, Yakov Feltsman. He is the same official who had registered him after his rebirth, and Viktor has been sure to consult him as often as he could since.

"To what do I owe this visit, Viktor?" he asks, barely shifting his face from the deep-set annoyance the Vila has learnt is his natural state. "Need another explanation on why you need to keep up to date with your supernatural registration?"

"No," Viktor responds with a huff of subdued annoyance. He wasn't born _yesterday_ , after all - and even if he had been, he had the experience of aeons of lifetimes to rely on. Just because he hated submitting the quarterly reports on his life events didn't mean he didn't understand the _fear_ that motivated it. As much as society loves to believe the compromises between the Otherworldly and humanity had improved in the four hundred years since he had last been among the living, the modern idea of registration and surveillance is enough to make him incensed. Especially considering he is hardly a _threat._ Yakov looks unimpressed with his abrupt answer, so Viktor layers on as much of his Vila charm and tease as he can, sliding his papers across the desk with a wink and flick of his hair. "I want to quit my job."

"What?" The officer chokes on his words as he turns an unsightly shade of purple.

"I want to quit, Yakov. Even disregarding all this silliness of the government considering me being a possible threat, and having me watched every waking hour, I cannot stand having to pose endlessly for the amusement of others," he continues as he folds his arms across his chest. "When being painted by artists or coveted in court during my last lifetime, these gazes have never been so bad."

"Viktor, please. Think logically." Shoulders falling as he sighs in defeat, Yakov looks incredibly old in the moment. "Your position and popularity as a model is not only thanks to your looks. You have charm and talent that draws people in, and makes them love you."

"I'm a Vila, of course I do," Viktor bites back. "Couldn't seduce the locals otherwise." Choosing to ignore the other's grumble of complaint at just _how proud_ supernatural beings could be, he continues. "But it's not worth anything," he whines whilst collapsing on the empty chair in dramatic despair. "No one is feeling anything genuine about who I am. My entire existence is an illusion." The leather of the chair squeaking as he drapes himself farther across the cool wood of the desk. Despite Viktor's best efforts in convincing him, Yakov still seems unimpressed.

"And what sort of job would you want then? You know being a distraction would be dangerous for most workplaces." Folding his arms across his chest, Yakov frowns harder at the thought, dark eyes skimming over the stack of papers Viktor had given him. "You're not stupid, boy. I know you realise you won't be able to find another job easily. Especially one which pays so well." Flicking to the next page before speaking again, tired eyes move to look the Vila in the eye. "And you know beneficial supernaturals have to have a job."

Irritated at the condescension from the other man and the crassness of the Russian Supernatural Standards, he can't prevent the icy chill in his voice. It's reminiscent of past days when townsfolk had both revered and been wary of his community along the lakeside. Days where a harsh word from a Vila could drive humans mad. He has no intention to do so now - never had, really, compared to others he had known - but he can feel the curl of cold in his words as he pins the other man with his most steady look. "I'm much older than you, Yakov, and I understand the ways of the world much more than you could." Yakov, to his own merit, doesn't flinch against the tone or the sharp eyes, instead sighing again. Shaking his head like he's about to discipline a misbehaving child. The old Russian has been a senior member of the ROLC for decades, so Viktor is hardly surprised he can handle an irate Vila. Wanting to avoid another incoming lecture, he decides to just get it over with. "... I want to move."

If Yakov had looked stricken and shocked before, it was nothing compared to how he looked at that news. Straightening up in his seat, Viktor runs his hands down his coat lapels before continuing.

"I've heard most sanctuary cities have jobs for all types of beings," Viktor says, smiling as he's unable to keep his hope contained. Yakov is still frowning. "I don't know what sort of job I might get yet," he continues, laughing, somewhat nervous, "but there are so many possibilities - and I want to see more of the world, too. I've lived lifetimes longer than the countries themselves, and yet the farthest I've been is the Baltic Sea." He's wistful, yearning to discover the larger world, barely containing it from sounding like a plea.

It may be illogical to most, but it's important to Viktor that Yakov understands his reasoning. The old man has been the closest thing resembling family Viktor has had over the five years since his rebirth, and the Vila values his opinion more than anyone.

"I have an old friend living in the United States who has offered to help me emigrate. She's been living in a sanctuary city for decades, and is excited for me to join her." One hand fiddles with his cuff before he emphasises his point. "I've given this a lot of thought, Yakov. This isn't just a fleeting whim."

Viktor is tense, tie strangling him as the seconds pass. Yakov has yet to say anything, and the silence of the other man is enough to make him nervous. Worst-case scenarios running through his head, he hopes Yakov doesn't disapprove too adamantly - and not only due to the fact that without the sign-off from the officer, his hopes to move internationally, or even quit his job, would be denied. It would hardly be the first time that the ROLC had prevented an Otherworldly from leaving for a sanctuary city. A larger population percentage of benevolent creatures in a city was thought to be both good luck and a good indication of standard of living, and the current Russian government was generally loath to lose any even slightly well-natured fae. That included Vila, of course.

No, even taking that into account, Viktor is much more wary of Yakov's _personal_ disapproval. If the ageing human objected too adamantly, it would hurt Viktor more than he'd like to admit to. There were few people Viktor trusted in this new life of his, and disappointing the one he was arguably closest to would seep him with even greater sadness. But he's not naive - he knows Yakov is a realist and an agent of the state. Years of experience following and enforcing restrictions would likely overrule any personal attachment the gruff human had for him, so the Vila had prepared for a long discussion trying to convince him to let him go. Having the other sit near-silent across the desk instead sends panic running up his spine.

Dark eyes keep contact with his, searching deep before sighing and running a hand down his face.

"Have you decided which city you want to immigrate to?"

Viktor can barely contain his shock as it freezes himself stock-still, before exploding into movement. He jumps up to the office desk in unconstrained joy, closing the distance for a hug.

"Are you-? Does this mean you'll let me go?"

"It's not a question of 'letting' anything, when you seem so convinced this change will make you happy," Yakov deftly shifts away from Viktor's eager arms with a practised ease. Tapping the stack of papers, he continues. "You have no sense, but you are smarter than most can tell. If you think this is the best course of action, I'll allow it."

Viktor can hardly believe it. Not only the amazing, improbable fact that Yakov Feltsman, the most rigid individual he has had the pleasure of meeting during at least the last three of his lifetimes has decided to choose against the appropriate regulations in favour of Viktor, but that the Vila hadn't had to spend the better part of a week trying to erode away enough of the other man's stony displeasure to have a slight chance of getting his move approved. The officer is not an unkind man, but he isn't known for indulging the whims of the Otherworldly under his care, leading to Viktor being heartily rejected on many, _many_ accounts before now.

"I cannot make any guarantees that Russia will support you again if you change your mind and want to come back, though," Yakov continues. His tone is still admonishing and weary, but his pen is already hovering over the first spot needing his signature. His heavy approval stamp sits close to where he had pulled it from his drawer.

For the first time since the monotony of modern life started pressing down on him, Viktor can see wondrous possibilities opening up.

Thick stacks of papers dense with Cyrillic start piling higher and higher as Yakov continues to finish his approvals. Viktor has to keep his hands clutched tight against his knees to keep himself from bounding around - instead sitting ramrod straight with the biggest goofy grin he can manage. He can feel a little of his bewitchments filtering into the room from his excitement, but Yakov just shudders and keeps his head down, writing. Before long, everything is done.

"Here, Vitya." His voice is warmer than the Vila expected, curled around the diminutive. The substantial stack of papers sliding back over to his side of the desk, accompanied by a smile so unused, Viktor isn't sure Yakov isn't pulling a muscle. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

*

The United States is well-known around the world for their sanctuary cities. The country had established them early on, to give displaced Otherworldly a place they could finally call home, without the worry of enchantment or curse impacting human populations. Many had been driven out of their countries during various periods of history, and the idea of a safe area for them all meant the newly-established settlements exploded in population. Many of the largest urban centres of the country now are still classified as sanctuaries, with a low level of human residency and increased diversity acceptance.

It had taken Europe and Asia far, far longer to establish their own, and it had never taken root in the same way. Culturally, humanity had always lived side-by-side with the mystic and unknown in those areas and expected to continue to do so, forever. But the stories of safety and a second chance in the New World had drawn supernatural groups from far and wide - beings escaping from witch trials, cleansing, or fate's stigma - and America had welcomed them all.

Which is why it's baffling how now it seems so hard to get in.

Aside from the six hundred pages of immigration and residency forms Viktor has had to submit over the past twelve weeks to just get his feet on foreign soil, there are security checks, previous health records needed, assessment of his suitability for employment and existing trade skills, as well as proof of legitimate connections already residing in the United States. It's all tedious and a little nerve-wracking with the possibility of being flat-out rejected at any step, despite the approval from the Russian side, but Viktor just keeps himself occupied with finishing his final contracts and packing up everything he'd accumulated over the past five years. Shipping twelve boxes full of his personal library, and nearly as many to hold his extensive wardrobe, is just one of the few things eating into his savings, and despite his growing disgust in the occupation, he does appreciate how much modelling allowed him to earn since his rebirth.

The other biggest hurdle trying to get in is running through the same health and behaviour checks for his loyal dog, Makkachin. If it was hard to enter the country as an Otherworldly, then it was nearly impossible as a pet. The idea of leaving his best friend in quarantine for months on end sets his nerves on edge, so he doesn't hesitate to get her all checked out and pay the extra travel fee, but he's paying more per pound for her than for himself. It's a worthy price though - Makkachin is his soulmate.

He had found her his first week in St Petersburg, cold and wet as she jumped from the water to the shoreline from wherever she was hiding along it. Viktor had been wandering aimlessly, still adapting to a new and exciting world, but empty of everything he knew. She was a tiny pup, brown curls matted with grime and obviously alone. Trotting right up to him, snuffling at his pant leg, Viktor had bundled her up to take to his newly-acquired apartment for food and a bath, falling in love with the poodle as her warm body snuggled close to sleep with him. He had taken her to a veterinarian under Yakov's instruction, and found she had no ID chip. He'd adopted her there and then, christening her Makkachin as she licked his fingers in interest.

She's grown a lot since then - long legs and willowy body bounding her around whenever he throws her favourite toy around the apartment - with a personality to match. She is spoilt rotten by Viktor, but well behaved, and it took no time for the two to become each other's family. The unconditional love the dog has given him, unaffected by Vila charms, is the most precious gift Viktor has ever received, and it is wonderful knowing that there is someone in the world who loved Viktor for himself. His dog is more than a simple pet - she is his closest companion and best friend. She has given him enough love to keep his sadness and loneliness away for far longer than he had expected. Both had been in the city alone, newly born, and found each other at the perfect time. Which is why there is zero chance of Viktor subjecting her to half a year of quarantine isolation just for the US officials to tell him she's fine. He already knows she's fine.

But finally, finally - after more money than he's ever spent on anything, and more form-filling and interview taking than he'd ever thought possible - Viktor has finally made it to America. The flight from St Petersburg was long but mostly comfortable in business class, and he'd been triple-checked by Yakov before departure for all his most important and relevant documents. He'd hugged his old registry officer tight, winking coyly at the man once they withdrew. Yakov had only sighed and pat his shoulder in acknowledgement, and then all too soon it was time to board his flight. Giving one final silent farewell to his homeland, Viktor watched the ground below fall away as the plane soared into the air. That was 13 hours ago.

Now, he's filling the obligatory customs information, standard across human and otherworldly travellers. For some reason, it's throwing him for a loop.

**_What is your reason for coming to the United States of America?_ **

The provided space is small, just for a single word like _work_ or _vacation_ , but Viktor is fighting back the emotions spinning in his mind. The final question on his entry forms sits blank, mocking, as he tries to put to words the abstract reason why he had left St Petersburg and a flourishing career behind. Why _had_ he thrown away everything he had and was familiar with to move halfway around the world? There is no guarantee that he'll be happier here than he was in Russia, and even the promise of meeting his old friend Mila doesn't mean that the creeping depression he sometimes feels in the shadowy parts of his mind will disappear.

The subdued buzz of anxiety of the surrounding people is starting to affect him too, as they all work through their own forms.

Taking a deep breath, he mentally chastises himself for being so drawn into hopelessness again. Of course he knows why he'd done this. That he had, despite the notoriety, community, and his entire identity being wrapped up in Russia, needed to escape his home country and explore the world far beyond what he knew. Four hundred years ago he had chosen his own death to escape superficial emotions and passionless friendships; his rebirth into the current age is an opportunity to do the same thing - although much less drastically. Chewing on his lip as he looks back to the last question, there's a tempting urge to just write the impulsive 'I lost myself in Russia, and have come to rediscover what it was I'm now missing,' or the even more depressing 'I don't know if I've ever existed as an individual. I'm trying to prove myself wrong'. He fiddles the provided ballpoint between the fingers of one hand as his other pushes his fringe back into place.

The unnerving feeling of being stared at crawls up his neck, but it's nothing he isn't used to - even in Russia, where his pale features, willowy frame and silver-spun hair were more common. His looks are magnetic by design - the whole reason why he had been recommended for modelling in the first place - but the creepy leering outside the safety of a magazine cover or an artist's eye is something he will never get used to. Even in his community, Vila had always worn it as a point of pride. The curse of being beautiful.

Another minute passes before he just hastily writes _hope_ in the blank space, slotting it into his passport and finally moving to join the line. He's making a much bigger deal of it than the person writing the questions did, but Viktor has never been one for subtlety.

*

Mila is easy to spot in a crowd - hair as fiery as he remembers from their days together during Moscuvy. She still has an ethereal look of youth, thin face and delicate features sharp as the ice she grew up in. There are people all around her, humans, struck in awe as she waves to him cheerily. They had reconnected thanks to Yakov and the Registry of Otherworldly and Legendary Creatures' information network, exchanging emails frequently, but nothing is as good as seeing her like this, in person. In his last lifetime, they had stargazed during summers and danced during blizzards together, living fairly carefree lives up until the end. During the many years of his absence, Mila had left their home country once ship travel had become easier, and her time travelling had coincided with the 1917 revolution. Unwilling to return to Russia under such circumstances, she had found herself settling into the United States, and hasn't gone back since. It's the story of many Russian Otherworldlies, and from what Viktor understands of the history and politics of the world he has missed, he doesn't blame his good friend for wanting to avoid such things.

The airport is near-deafening with the sheer sound of humanity moving around. The overhead announcements ring with an accent Viktor will still need to get used to, but he thanks Mila's foresight five years ago suggesting he should learn English alongside updating his Russian to modern standards.

She grabs him in a hug - pulling him close as people keep moving between terminals and gates and stores around them. She still smells of the pine smoke and fresh snow he remembers from four centuries before, and feeling the warmth of her slight frame against his is something he hadn't realised he'd missed. She's smiling brightly, gorgeous, as expected - looking not a day older than she had on the day of his death. The crowd they're drawing is only getting larger as people stop to look at them - phones out as they move to take pictures, even if many look defeated he and Mila are obviously together. Whatever they're assuming, Viktor doesn't mind, as long as it means they might be able to leave without being stopped constantly for bad pick-up lines. Being the only Vila in a crowd is tiring.

They chat all the way past the duty-free stores and baggage pickup. It's a wonderful fifteen minutes collecting Makkachin from her crate and introducing her to Mila, who falls to her knees in delight - her face snuggling into the soft brown curls as she praises how beautiful, how well-behaved, how adorable she is. Makkachin thanks her in her usual way: with zealous, overjoyed licks to the face - her tail wagging so hard her hind legs are moving with it.

Once they finally pile themselves into Mila's car, Viktor releases his sigh of relief. Mila looks to him from the driver's seat, smile understanding, before starting the engine.

"Is it always that bad?" He's almost certain that a few of the people from inside the airport had followed them out. "It's been awhile since I've had people blatantly taking pictures like that. Outside of work, I mean."

"Only outside of the city," she waves off with a laugh. "There are still humans living in Detroit, of course, but most seem to realise when they're being rude." Sharp eyes darting back and forth checking blind spots, she merges onto the freeway.

"Although you'll learn pretty quick that Americans are incredibly forward in general. None of the _Untouchable Vila_ hierarchy crap like back home."

She keeps talking to him, but he can barely hold on to the conversation. Watching the traffic pass as they head to the city, he can feel his hands shaking. It's just starting to hit him - that he's really here in Detroit, moving his life and dog to a foreign country he had never even known existed before this lifetime. It's scary and thrilling, and an adventure he has craved for centuries.

His apartment is newly renovated, right in the metro area, and a five-minute drive from Mila's. The whole area is part of the city's current rejuvenation project, with many of the old, empty buildings being renovated and updated for sale. The building he's living in had once been a hotel, and the grand lobby and extensive resources available betray its former glory. There are a pool and gym area on the ground floor, and the estate agent had boasted a shared roof garden as well. Just one block down was a lovely park area where he could walk Makkachin too, and from Mila's instructions, everything he could ever need is within reach.

Mila hangs back a little when Viktor opens his door for the first time, letting him breach the threshold alone. His poodle scampers ahead into the spacious rooms once she's freed from her leash, sniffing around in curiosity as she maps their new home. The slight unpacking Mila has done ahead of his arrival includes his house slippers and shoe rack, so he wastes no time unlacing the shoes he wore on the plane and slipping into the familiar worn slippers he'd sent beforehand. Walking past the unopened boxes that line the hallway once successfully switching shoes, he steps into the open plan living area, plenty of natural light streaming in from large windows. It's nice - airy and open. A sofa and armchair are already set out in the living area, making the empty apartment feel a little more welcoming. Bookcases cover one wall in lieu of a television, just like Viktor's old place in St Petersburg, only half-full with his beloved collection. A small dining table sits between the living area and the kitchen, ready for any entertaining he might do.

"I can take you to the Slavic Association tomorrow, if you'd like? Introduce you to the regulars. Unless you want to start job hunting instead, but I think you'd want to settle in first." Depositing the spare key on the kitchen countertop, Mila gets closer to where he's standing in the room. "Just let me know."

Makkachin's nails clack against the hardwood floors as she continues to move from room to room, before finding her way back to Viktor. He heads in to check the bedroom and bathroom, clean and new as expected - she barks in approval before jumping into her dog bed, sitting in a corner near the foot of the bed. Mila laughs, leaning against the doorframe as she crosses her arms. "Nice to see someone appreciates my moving-in effort."

"Thank you again for all this, Mila. I really appreciate everything you've done; I'd still be stuck in Russia, bored and alone if it wasn't for you."

"Don't worry about it Viktor. It's nice to finally have you back." Her smile is soft but exasperated, like she's annoyed he even thinks it's worth mentioning. "I think you'll fit right in."

*

The Slavic Association is a short drive away - rich carpeting and lavish decorations betraying the origin of its inhabitants. Multitudes of old, faded photographs line the walls as a celebration of the old country, with Otherworldly individuals of all types grinning from the frames. Even at noon the next day, when Mila manages to drag Viktor from unpacking the boxes of his life, there is a surprisingly large group of members milling around or chatting amongst themselves. All the voices around him are a mix of Russian and heavily accented English, a stark reminder of the homeland he had just left behind.

Mila's excited as they enter, assuring him, "I've told everyone about you, Viktor, so it's like you're already one of the regulars." Waving to someone she recognises soon after, she drags him farther into the main hall and bar, before leaving him alone to talk to someone else. Abandoned with nothing better to do, Viktor takes the time to focus on the closest photograph to him. Mila is in the middle, looking smart in a Norfolk jacket, and grinning to the photographer whilst she cuts the ribbon for the Association's grand opening, a young man at her side looking full of pride.

Viktor must have been more preoccupied than he realised, as he jumps when his friend returns - membership papers in one hand, a severe-looking woman to her left.

"Viktor, Lilia; Lilia, Viktor," Mila introduces, using her free hand to gesture between them. Viktor flashes his most charming smile to the older woman, before shrinking away at her judgemental stare. Mila doesn't seem to notice. "Lilia runs this place, and about half of the businesses in this area. She's a Rusalka, so I'm sure you have a lot in common with her, Viktor, considering your lake-roots."

Viktor can't fully suppress the shiver that runs down his spine under Lilia's scrutiny. Tight bun making her face sharper as she looks him up and down, sizing him up - a small vial of water hanging around her neck the only indication of her need for the element. He's acutely aware of how perceptive Rusalka are; hoping to make a good first impression, he keeps his smile in place.

"It's so nice to meet you. I'm looking forward to getting more familiar with the Association." Lilia takes his proffered hand to shake, but keeps frowning. She's imposing, even though Viktor is both taller and has more muscle - her stare unshakably commanding.

"You're a terrible liar." Viktor isn't sure if he's completely ruined this first impression already, or if there is still something he can do to save himself from the Rusalka's ire. Lilia takes another judgemental look-over before finishing her thought, "But that's not unusual for Vila. You won't get far in a sanctuary city if you keep relying on your charms."

It makes sense, that without a layer of bewitchment and seduction clouding over the rationality of the people around him that Viktor will need to work harder to succeed, and the realisation makes him excited rather than upset. His sinking mood stops as he hears that - hopeful to rise to the challenge presented, and Lilia must see the change in his attitude as obviously as he feels it. Her downturned frown curls just slightly into a half-smile, and Viktor feels like he's won just a little more respect from the woman.

"Mila says you are looking for a job."

It only takes a moment for Viktor to recover from the blunt statement, blinking before smiling self-consciously. "Oh. Yes."

"What sort of work?" Her poise is still perfect as she cocks her head with the question, her ancestry and talents obvious in everything she does. Viktor would be an idiot to try and deflect or avoid an inquiry from a Rusalka, but even more so he's tired of performing to an image he isn't.

He slips into honesty so easily that he surprises himself, almost eager to share. "I don't mind what sort of job I can find, if I can avoid having to pose for cameras." Thin eyebrows rise in a minute indication of surprise, arms folding across her chest.

"I guess you _aren't_ like most Vila, then," she concludes. Viktor can only agree - acutely aware of how unnatural it is for his fellow kin to want to leave the spotlight. He's about to ask Mila what she thinks, when the Rusalka abruptly continues, "Do you like books?"

From his friend's grin, he can only assume the abruptness is fairly typical for conversation with Lilia. Straight to the point and no-nonsense - he's sure she and Yakov would get along well.

"They are one of the few great luxuries of life; I try to indulge as often as I can," he says truthfully, with just a dash of his typical dramatic flair. Lilia hands him a crisp business card before he can even register she's moved. There's a logo, phone number and address for a bookstore on one side of the card.

"Meet me at this address tomorrow, 8 a.m. sharp. I expect you to be prompt." Taking his nod as acceptance, she turns back to the direction she and Mila had come, leaving to return to whatever she had been doing before. All Viktor can do is blink after her retreating figure.

"What just happened?"

Placing one hand on his shoulder as she leans against him, Mila's cheeky grin is toothy. "You, my dear Vitya, just got yourself a job." Taking the business card from his hand, she checks the address, lighting up in recognition. "Ah, it's her bookstore three blocks from here. I'll show you where it is after this."

Viktor is still reeling from the fact that he had, _somehow_ , gained a job within the space of five minutes of walking into the Soviet Association - a place he hadn't expected much from, honestly, considering he had moved to the United States to avoid all the assumptions of Vila from the Russians. He probably should have realised things would be easier in a sanctuary city.

"But anyway," Mila keeps going, unaware of Viktor's mental realisations, "there are some more people I want to introduce you to - come say hi." His old friend drags him by the hand to a pair in the opposite corner, the younger obviously trying to avoid the other. At the Vilas' approach, the blond sneers in recognition, and Mila laughs at how instantaneously he makes a rude gesture. Next to him the other waves, smile strained and long-suffering.

After her prompt and enthusiastic introduction of Viktor to the two as, "the friend I was telling you about," she spins around to look him in the eye to continue introductions.

"This is Georgi. He's um, pretty enthusiastic about love." Shaking Viktor's hand as offered, it only takes a moment for Mila's description to be confirmed as Georgi starts talking about his current girlfriend. Seeing him distracted, Mila leans into a low whisper to say, "And curses…but don't worry, the latter rarely hit properly." Viktor takes a mental note to avoid that if he can.

Mila moves to loop her arms around the blond's neck as he struggles against her, his _"fuck off_ " muffled in the fabric of his jacket. "And this is Yuri, our resident rebel Domovoi." Loud leopard print covers the teen's sleeves, and his boots look like they could break a bone if kicked properly. Sharp green eyes look disgusted when they finally reach Viktor as he slumps defeated in Mila's grasp. It's short-lived though, as he bristles again when she speaks. "I'm surprised you're not with Otabek"

"He's at classes, otherwise I wouldn't be stuck hanging out here." Shrugging out of her hold, the blond readjusts his jacket and hood. His hair cut blunt at his chin emphasising his delicate features - a far cry from all the Domovoi Viktor has met before, young and prickly rather than aged and merry.

"What about you? Isn't it a school day?" Viktor isn't completely aware of the system in America, but lunchtime on a Wednesday seems like a safe bet that school would be running. The force of the glare that hits him in response is almost physically painful.

"I have to pick up Gramps from the hospital in an hour. No point going just to leave again."

"I guess you'll need a ride then." Mila hums to herself, knowing look indicative that she's already planning something. Yuri seems used to it.

"I'll just take the bus there. We can take a taxi back."

"Nope, too late, I've already decided I'm taking you. We have to pass by Baranovskaya Books first though. Viktor's going to be working there starting tomorrow."

Rolling his eyes, Yuri looks like he's debating whether murder would be worth the effort. Viktor moves back a little to ensure it's not him. "I didn't ask you to, Baba-cheva." Mila laughing again, unconcerned.

"Don't act like you don't love it, Yura," grabbing the blond again before he can avoid her, lifting him aloft her head.

*

Viktor shows up at his new workplace at 8 a.m. sharp. The front sign says closed, but the door opens easily under his push, and he lets the electronic ring of the bell announce his arrival. Lilia emerges from a hidden door to acknowledge him, eyes studying him once again, before turning to return to where she had been. Viktor takes that as his indication to follow, and he's nervous moving to the hidden back rooms of the bookstore. They consist of storage and an employee lounge, and the smell of new books and stale coffee is strong in the air. There's another young man sitting at the small table in the room, his smile curling with mischief when Viktor greets him. Lilia hands him his very own name badge before crossing her arms, waiting for him to put it on.

"This is Christophe, he will teach you what is expected, both with selling or recommending books to customers, and the general upkeep of the store." Christophe gives a half wave, but lets Lilia continue uninterrupted.

"Do you know how to work a register?" Shaking his head, Viktor worries he's already made his new boss angry with his inexperience, but she doesn't change her expression or tone. "I'll show you now, then. Leave your coat in the locker and follow me."

She runs through how the register works only once, and then gets Viktor to do it himself repeatedly until satisfied. After that is the store's sorting and shelving system, which Viktor finds is highly formulated and exact to make the customer's browsing experience easy, followed with a return to the break room to cover the employee schedule. Viktor is, surprisingly, already scheduled for fulltime work alongside Christophe, with a handful of part-timers joining them in the afternoons.

She ends her instructions at the cleaning supplies - emphasising the need for thorough dusting and vacuuming. It's all fairly simple, and Viktor nods in understanding to each routine she explains. Viktor can't help his sigh of relief once the woman leaves them to open the store, the tension of starting a new job easing a little with his confidence. It is foreboding hearing her promise to check back at the end of the day to make sure he's working to her expectations, though.

"Lilia is very hands-on at first with new recruits because she expects a lot. Don't worry too much," his new coworker tells him once they've flipped the front sign to open. It's exactly 9 a.m., and Viktor can sense that even without customers waiting, the store opening must be as exact as his own arrival. Christophe smiles at him, unconcerned.

He is handsome in a boyish way, with long lashes, large doe eyes and cherubic features clashing with the scruffy facial hair across his chin and upper lip. He smirks at Viktor knowingly, tapping his bottom lip as he hums.

"The fact you're already full-time means you're probably safe. I'd be surprised if you didn't attract sales, being as handsome as you are - she's savvy about hiring and knows what the customers like."

"Oh." He had hoped that something like selling books would mean that he wouldn't have to rely on his looks to succeed, but it makes sense to appeal to customers to get them to come back. His body must visibly deflate as much as his spirit does in that moment, because Christophe sputters to reassure him right away.

"Hey, hey, I'm mostly teasing. Almost everyone we get here is a regular. Supernaturals. Even with those charms you're oozing, you're not going to have anyone enraptured." Shifting his posture to lean against the register counter, his voice sincere, the other continues, "And Lilia wouldn't have you working here if you were just a pretty face."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, mon ami. I'm much the same."

It's obvious that Christophe comes from a family of fae specialising in seduction, but Viktor hadn't expected him to understand his distaste for the overwhelming attraction he caused in others. "Oh?"

"Have you heard of Auberon, from Shakespeare?"

"Oberon, the fairy king?" He had always preferred Shakespeare's comedies.

"Mmmn, if you butcher it into English, yes," he sighs, a defeated look over the language argument he had probably had countless times before. "Europe is a mess trying to keep us straight, but I'm from the same lineage. Alps, Incubi, Elves. I've fallen into all classifications at one point." At first glance, it seems impossible that such conflicting descriptions could be used for the same person, but political borders and religious shifts over time had caused confusing standards for the Otherworldly in Europe. Viktor sympathised with the other man, having to deal with it. "Believe me when I say I understand the assumptions caused by reputation."

It's becoming more and more apparent how much of a necessity and blessing sanctuary cities are for some. Knowing that Christophe is willing to share so much about himself to a relative stranger, just to help reassure Viktor in his own worries, is something he appreciates in more ways than he can say.

"Thank you, Christophe," he says, hoping the implications of the situation are obvious.

"Oh, please, call me Chris," he bounces back, easing into a smile Viktor is now recognising as genuine. "All my friends do."

*

His doorbell is ringing incessantly, but Viktor has gotten used to it. After the first time Yuri had visited - back when Mila had dragged him along to help with unpacking boxes - the young Domovoi has made it his business to check in at least twice a week with food from his grandfather to "make sure you haven't died from your own incompetence." Now, four months since his move, Viktor knows to expect the teen after his classes.

From Viktor's admittedly limited knowledge, it's part of Domovoi nature to protect and provide comfort for homes, but he knows Yuri would sooner throw himself off the balcony than admit that that's what he's doing. Instead, the irritable teen falls to his usual excuse of wanting to lounge around the apartment's wide windows - shifting to his preferred feline form before curling up in the sun on the window seat, pointedly ignoring Makkachin's encouragements to play. The annoyance glittering in green eyes is still as obvious coming from the cat as it was from the teen.

Viktor has gotten used to the routine of his new life. Spending his days between the bookstore, the association, and his apartment means he hasn't met a huge amount of new people, like he had initially expected, but he has made some wonderful friends regardless.

Today the meal Yuri has brought is pirozhki, still warm from the oven, the fragrance of meat and spices filling the space. Reaching for a plate from the drawer, Viktor is surprised to still be seeing the teen as himself, kicking his legs from a bench at the breakfast bar. Shoulders hunched as he leans to one side, the Domovoi pretends to be interested in the cuff of his jacket rather than Viktor's reaction. After a minute, green eyes flick over to his as if disinterested, but the Vila isn't fooled. He can see the anticipation and tension written all through the other's frame.

"Mila wants to know if you're coming to the festival next week."

"Festival?" It is the first he'd heard of it, but it sounds like a lot of fun. Russia often had White Night celebrations this time of year and he loved them.

"A bunch of the Associations get together for the summer solstice or whatever. There's fireworks and music and stuff," Yuri says as he shrugs his shoulders, pretending to be disinterested. Finding out it wouldn't be confined to the people he had met already, Viktor is even more excited to go. This will be his first festival since moving to the US, and it will be the perfect opportunity to throw some variety into his daily routine. Meet some more people.

He can't wait.

*

There are paper lanterns and strings of fairy lights casting soft light around the park the festival is being held in as the crush of people move from stall to stall. Like Yuri had said, multiple Associations are collaborating for the festivities tonight, and the eclectic mix of cultures is fascinating for Viktor to see, having never experienced most of them before today. He isn't uneducated, but reading about something passively in mandatory history lessons after his rebirth was completely different to experiencing them in the moment now. The park is full of sellers - painted European masks hang alongside carved wooden totems, paper charms fluttering in the summer breeze. Children run around with blue will-o'-the-wisp captured in thin bubbles, mesmerizingly beautiful as they flicker, and the strong smell of spices rise from every second tent. There are so many different types of beings in the moving crowd, and the bustle of life keeps the atmosphere charged.

"Glad to see you could make it, Viktor," Chris says when they find each other in the crowd. He's wearing his glasses, surprisingly, and already halfway into a drink Viktor couldn't hazard a guess of. "Tonight'll be lots of fun, so make sure to make the most of it!"

Mila is busy manning one of the multiple stalls set up - one of the hazards of being a founding member - and they visit her first for hoska.

"Not quite Peterhof, but hopefully you're enjoying yourself," she says as she hands over their bread.

"Absolutely. There are so many interesting things here." He's about to launch into his list of things he wants to do when a Sirin tuts behind him, impatient, before he can say any more, and he moves aside to let her order. "I'll talk to you later, Mila," he says, waving as he leaves her to her work.

He lets Chris drag him to have their fortunes told by a beautiful woman in silks. The line is long but fast moving, and her melodic voice speaks poetry whilst looking to the stars. Chris seems pleased about his fortune, but Viktor was never good with vague hints.

' _A dance with fates_ ' indeed.

They try more food, and Viktor gets his own magically confined will-o'-the-wisp. Graceful beings pass dressed in all sorts of traditional outfits. The sound of laughter bounces around the willowy music that filters through the crowd, and the trees shimmer with projections and stardust.

The dusk moves to evening, and the park gets busier as more nocturnal individuals arrive. Already he can see certain shifts in the groups surrounding them. They're circling back around to find the stall that's selling pinwheels when Chris calls to someone he knows.

"Yuuri~," the Swiss man whines as he moves into the photograph the other pair is taking, embracing one from behind. "It's been so long since I've seen you. You never stop by at the bookstore anymore."

"Ch-Chris!" the other young man, Yuuri, squawks. His friend laughs as he tries to wiggle himself free from Chris, unsuccessfully. "I've been busy at the studio, since Minako-sensei returned to Japan. Sorry."

Pouting, Chris clings tighter.

"Is he telling me the truth, cheri," he asks the friend Yuuri is with, leaning in conspiratorially, "or is he breaking my heart?"

Something in the way Yuuri laughs at the accusation is strained, Viktor notices. The skin around his eyes and the corner of his mouth tightens minutely, but it disappears with the flash of lantern light reflecting harshly off the glasses he wears. Regardless, he keeps up with Chris' banter anyway. "It's true! Phichit, back me up here." His friend Phichit just snickers as he takes a photo of them both, camera flash bright in the night. Yuuri gives him a fond but harassed look, and his friend cuts him some slack.

"Indeed, it's true. That old fox going home has meant we're all covering her classes," Phichit sighs, long and weary, to indicate how hard they've been working. He notices Viktor standing a little off to the side from their reunion, and waves to him, friendly, before returning to focus on Chris. "I think Michele is plotting to kill us both thanks to all the extra hours Sara has had."

The three shudder simultaneously, and Viktor has to choke down his laugh at the synchronicity.

"I'll be sure to visit more often then," his friend concludes before eyes alighting on the Vila. "By the way, have you met Viktor? He's a friend of Mila's from the old country. This is his first festival." Moving off of Yuuri, Chris beckons Viktor closer so as to properly introduce everyone. "Viktor, this is Phichit and Yuuri, my two favourite dancers."

Yuuri, no longer cramped under Chris' grasp, is noticeably taller than Phichit, and the two are an interesting pair standing together. Phichit seems to radiate energy as he shakes Viktor's hand, compared to the subdued smile Yuuri gives, gentle and genuine. Viktor's known beautiful people before throughout his lifetimes, but Yuuri's kindness radiates even more lovely than any amount of alluring features could.

Drums rumble from the background as the festival continues around them, and Viktor's curiosity is piqued.

"Dancers?"

"W-well, really we just run classes at the studio. It's not -" Yuuri starts, before Phichit interrupts.

"Don't let Yuuri tell you he's nothing special, he's a professional. He's been training with our boss Minako forever."

The light from the festival lanterns isn't bright, but Viktor can still see the creep of blush up the other's face, flustered. "That's not - she's from my hometown, so she's been teaching me since I was little."

From both Phichit and Chris' unimpressed looks, it's obvious they don't agree with Yuuri playing down his achievements, which just causes Viktor's interest in the young man to grow even larger. It's been a long time since Viktor has known any dancers - even longer since he had danced himself - and it feels like he's getting close to a piece of his previous lifetime.

"What sort of dance?"

"Oh, um. My speciality is ballet, but we have classes for most other styles."

Phichit rolls his eyes again. "He also runs most of those other classes. I told you he's a pro, don't let him fool you."

"Their studio is the best in the city," Chris helpfully interjects. "Strictly no human access, so no one has to worry about seducing or entrancing people." He gives a pointed look to Viktor as he emphasises the word seducing.

Something in that small interaction clicks into place for Yuuri, and he seems more confident when he nods in agreement with Chris. "There are a significant amount of Otherworldlies who can't dance in their home country due to governmental restrictions. They shouldn't have to worry about that here." Yuuri's eyes sparkle as he speaks, and Viktor's mouth dries, feeling a little struck over his earnestness. Of course he understands, feels it in his bones. He had moved to Detroit for the same reasons, yearning to allow himself a freedom he had never had in Russia.

"That's wonderful," he breathes, stepping closer to close the distance. "I'd love to join you to dance one day."

Somewhere at their peripheral, Viktor hears a camera going off. He ignores it to keep looking at the dancer. Yuuri's face is rounder and softer than he expects from a dancer, but his posture betrays the strength and grace of his ballet training.

"What do you mean 'one day'," Chris teases. Victor had almost forgotten he was there. "You have the chance right now. As far as I can tell, we're still at a festival."

"What do you think, Yuuri? Treat him to a dance," Phichit encourages. Viktor can't help hoping that he'll agree.

Rather than saying anything in response, he boldly takes Viktor by his hand, as if preventing himself from second-guessing his decision. The other man's palm is warm in his as exciting, anticipatory tingles radiate out from where they touch. The dance area isn't far from where they had been speaking this entire time, and they move towards it together.

The music encourages him as they approach the dance floor. Yuuri turns as they reach the centre, small smile thrilling up Viktor's spine. Vila had once shared the stories of history through dance, but it seemed that too had become a relic of the past during his absence, and he had never had a reason to do it since his rebirth. He had missed those summer nights in Russia, bonfire dances of the community under the spill of stars. Missing that feeling of freedom in the movements of his body, without worry of his aura or reputation.

Hands move to his own, and Viktor is swept up in the movements of the other before he realises it. Deft footwork moves them across the dance floor, and the other dancers have moved to form a circle around the space, to give them room. The music doesn't match with the samba they're sharing, but Viktor couldn't care less. Warmth fills his chest as they keep up with the music, and Yuuri's smile grows to a grin as they keep dancing. His face, close, is pink with flush and beautifully glowing. Viktor's sure his own is much the same, and he's struck by the intangible emotion bubbling in brown eyes pulling him deeper.

"You're a wonderful dancer," he breathes, awestruck.

"You're not too bad yourself," Yuuri teases back, his cheeks dimpling as he speaks with a smile.

A strong, sure hand is at the small of his back, the other grasping his own. He's dipped, bodies entwined as they keep each other close. Hot breath brushing across his skin as they keep moving, barely an inch between them. He's sure the dancer can feel his heartbeat racing as they move - pure emotion burning as bright as the festival lanterns around them. Sweat runs down his neck from the mix of the warm night and heat between their steps. Yuuri's hair is mussed with their movement, and the urge to thread his fingers through it makes Viktor hope they can stay as close after their dance is done. Even so, he doesn't want this dance, this moment, to end. It's the most fun he's had in years, in centuries.

The young man he's dancing with is reminding him of everything he'd been yearning for in his rebirth and move. The feelings he had been desperately seeking for far longer than he'd realised, and wanting to nurture these small sparks to see how large they can grow, now that he's found them in his grasp. To cherish them in ways that he'd never realised he'd needed to before.

Yuuri Katsuki helps him remember what it's like to be happy. He never wants to forget again.

 

* * *

 

The summer solstice celebrations run the first week of July every year, with the mishmash of cultural groups once again coming together to hold the event. After twenty five years of living in Detroit, Yuuri knows what to expect from the Yokai Association's stalls; the mix of early Tanabata and Obon traditions reminding him of Hasetsu and his family still in Japan. The risk of meeting a human amongst the crowd is far too high whilst manning a stall, even in such a densely Otherworldly area, and he's grateful for the Association's strict rules removing that responsibility from him.

Hone-Onna - _bone-women_ \- like himself are far from the worst type of vengeful Yokai, ones that the Japanese government keep under constant surveillance, but when considering their possible impact on humans, it's normal for most to be wary, even other Yokai. Thankfully, living in Detroit means he can live his life normally despite this, and Yuuri doesn't mind accompanying Phichit to events when he asks. All he has to do is make sure he avoids falling in love.

The trees sparkle with lights above, and the warmth of the night is only emphasised when standing amongst the crowd. Phichit glows as he adjusts a mask of coconut leaves at the Bun Luang tent; as one of the few Phi Pa in the city, his best friend is always asked to help explain the Thai tradition. It's not often that nature-bound spirits move from their homes, and Phichit is friendly and talkative, so Yuuri understands the appeal.

He wanders the rows of stalls as he waits for his best friend to finish, each filled with various traditional items, events, or foods. He's watching a group of young Kharites sing and dance when Phichit rejoins him, already halfway through eating some sort of braided pastry.

"Have you gotten your fortune told by the Oracle yet?" Phichit asks, sucking sugar from his fingers.

"Not yet," he replies whilst trying to avoid Phichit's sticky touch. "I knew you'd want to go together."

Unaware, or uncaring of Yuuri's efforts, Phichit grabs his hand and spins them both around to head in the other direction from the performance. "Smart idea."

They wander from stall to stall together. Phichit knows plenty of people manning the stalls, and he manages to get them free food at a half dozen. The melodic voice of a Karyōbinga floats from the main stage as they pass the crush of onlookers, and Phichit pulls his arm in an attempt to get Yuuri to move faster. Visiting Oracles is one of the Phi Pa's favourite parts of large association events, so it's no surprise they end up there eventually. Incense burns thick in the air, increasing the heat of the night. The smell has always reminded Yuuri of funerals. Sweat beads along the nape of his neck and his nose itches as he waits. The Thai spirit vibrates in excitement as the foggy green eyes of the Oracle search his lifeline - her voice echoing with mystic power as she speaks, gaze tilted to the stars.

Next is Yuuri, and he presents his hand for the Oracle to hold. Sitting across from her makes him all the more aware of her Divine Grace, the weight of the universe heavy in her touch as she peers into it to find Yuuri's fortune. It's a different type of fortune-telling than the Miko do in Japan, and it always makes Yuuri unnervingly uncomfortable having someone else looking into the fate of his life so directly.

It takes only a moment before the Oracle starts to speak again. Yuuri's nose and eyes still itch from the incense, but he's unable to look away from the pale girl as she speaks to the stars.

" _Your life unfolds, uncertain along its path_

_Bones of your body shake today, but stay strong to the heart_

_Finding love forever"_

Yuuri can't make himself move for a moment afterwards, with how hard the words hit him, straight to his biggest fears. Phichit is saying something to him, excited, but nothing he's saying registers in Yuuri's mind, too occupied with his fortune.

The reality is, he knows exactly what the Oracle was sharing - the possibility of him finding his Love.

Hone-Onna exist on love from others; a parasitic need for the affection and adoration keeping them alive, at the cost of their partner. Yuuri has spent his entire life avoiding just that, because being ultimately destined to rejection and a short life is something he's never wanted. A twisted fate, to curse and be cursed by the one they care about most. Growing up to know that you were bound by fate and design to kill the person you treasured most left him anxious and upset, and he had always wondered that if that were the case, wasn't it better to be alone?

You could never miss a bond if it never existed in the first place.

Anxiety gnaws in his gut as he is finally pulled up and out of the Oracle's tent by his best friend. It's impossible for him to fully shake the feeling of unease spinning in his mind, but Phichit tries valiantly to keep him occupied, even so. They watch faeries mingle amongst fireflies at the lakeshore, and catch the latter half of a play being put on by the Wytch Society when they drift back into the crowds. He downs two cups of kuchikamizake when he finds a stall selling it farther down the path, trying to shake the uneasiness his mind is still milling on - the kappa serving him just raising her eyebrows in surprise at his eagerness. The burn of alcohol tingling down his throat is imbued with the spiritual power of the gods it was made for, and it helps ease his fear and panic from earlier slightly.

Catching back up with Phichit, the moon is high and bright in the sky, welcoming more of the city's residents to the night. Yuuri takes a moment to revel in the atmosphere of warmth and community, before taking a deep breath, eyes slipping closed.

When he opens his eyes again, Phichit is looking at him directly, brown eyes sharp. "Look, Yuuri," he says, an arm slinging around his shoulders as Phichit leans close. "If you want to head home, we can go. I'm sorry for dragging you out."

"No, it's OK, Phich," he replies, trying to ease the worry he can now see in his best friend's face. Yuuri hates being the reason for that look, even knowing that the Phi Pa is only concerned for him. "I'm sorry I haven't been much fun."

"We've done everything worth doing here anyway," Phichit just brushes him off. "One more selfie for prosperity, then we're done!!"

They lean together as Phichit positions his phone at the optimal angle. Gathering as much of a grin as he can in the moment, he poses with his best friend. It really was a fun time of year, despite the fortune souring his mood. Unexpected hands curling around his hips and chest make him jump just as the flash goes off, and it's a second before he recognises who decided to cling to his back.

Chris smells of honeysuckle and fireworks, thick from the celebrations, as he continues to cling to Yuuri. Phichit chooses to laugh at the situation, rather than help the Yokai detangle from their friend, and so he's left alone to try and free himself. The back of his neck prickles with goosebumps as he can feel the stares of strangers in the crowd watching the scene - Yuuri's anxiety flaring in the pit of his stomach. Sighing, defeated, he lets himself be clung to rather than making a scene.

It's only once he's released from under the other man's strong upper body that he realises Chris wasn't alone. Being beckoned from just a few steps away is his friend, quiet throughout Chris' questioning, and likely the main source of the stare he had felt on him before.

Viktor Nikiforov is introduced under the magic of the moment - hair spun like starlight, and eyes bluer than sapphires. The dim lighting of the festival is unable to fully capture how striking he is, and Yuuri feels torn between staring openly and averting his eyes. He's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and for the first time in his life, he's not worried about falling deeper into knowing someone else. A lifetime of worry and distancing himself from getting close to anyone, from falling in love, disappears as the Russian man looks to Yuuri, hopeful and expectant after his introduction. Rather than possibly embarrassing himself even further with how unable he feels to look away, he settles instead for just sharing a small smile, shaking his hand when offered.

He doesn't quite remember what compelled him to invite Viktor to a dance - whether it was thanks to the sake finally hitting his bloodstream, the enchantment of the evening, or wanting to wash away the sad edges to Viktor's smile - but an intense, inexplicable urge washes over him to talk to him, get closer. Like all the lingering doubt and worry from his fortune finally slips away when they're hand in hand, dancing together. The air between their bodies sizzles with a mix of attraction and the summer heat, and the festival falls away. The frantic frenzy of his heart jumps in time with the rhythm of the music, and Yuuri grins wide, amazed at how much _fun_ it looks like Viktor is having. Blue eyes never break gaze with his own, even when the music shifts to something new and off-time to their steps, and a lovely pink glow burns under snowy skin. If his hands weren't already occupied with supporting the other man's back and free hand, he'd be tempted to brush his fingers along Viktor's jaw, awed.

Time seems out of step from where they're dancing. One dance melds into a dozen, and the sound of their breathing drowns out any of the music that may still be playing, but they keep moving regardless. It may have been hours since they started, but Yuuri still feels like he has a million more dances he wants to share. Sensual tango, energetic swing, graceful ballet, sultry pole. Enticing Viktor enough so he'll keep looking at him like he does now, like Yuuri is the center of the universe.

Dancing with Viktor Nikiforov is everything Yuuri has wanted - and wanted to avoid - his entire life.

There are so many more things he wants to ask once they finally stop dancing. It's ridiculous how fast he's fallen into this intensity, and he's not sure whether it's due to the fatalistic nature of attraction for Hone-Onna, or whether Yuuri had been so starved of intimacy up until this point that he'd latched on to the interest Viktor had given him. It feels like fireworks are exploding in his chest as they make their way back to Chris and Phichit, and Yuuri is hyper aware of their hands still interlinked. Phichit is grinning like he's won the lottery, and Chris whistles, impressed.

"That was wonderful to watch - you're making me jealous I wasn't invited."

Viktor must say something in response to that, but Yuuri can't hear anything he says.

His stomach is in knots as they keep standing together, his hand still warm from Viktor's lingering touch. Anxiety spills down his spine as he realises he wants to be holding his hand again. That he doesn't want to say goodbye. It's terrifying, feeling first-hand the rush of emotion he's always heard about. Yuuri had never wanted to fall into the unbreakable, legendary love of Hone-Onna that the myths tell - his life irreversibly bound to someone else's, and the inevitable end once they cast him out in survival - but now he feels helpless against it. A single night of dancing with the most wonderfully alluring person he's ever seen ruining his lifetime of avoidance. Yuuri might be fated to this, to fall in love so deeply that he dies from it, but he wants to be sick at how futile all his efforts up until now feel.

He hates this.

*

Yuuri wakes to his alarm beeping insistently. Groaning as he rolls to the edge of his mattress, he fumbles to find his glasses on the bedside table. Usually early mornings are no problem for him, but after the sake, dancing, high emotions and late night of the solstice, it's a struggle to encourage himself to get up and start his day. Luckily, the classes at the studio he's running today don't start until the afternoon - hopefully long enough to ease the ache of his muscles a little before having to run through any of the routines.

His phone screen flashes bright as he moves for it next, seeing a message he had slept through hours earlier. The sweet face of his mother pops up when he checks the notification. It's just past 9 a.m., and he does the mental addition he needs before pressing the call button to phone the onsen. It's late enough that the dinner rush is over, and someone picks up after the second ring.

"Yu-topia Katsuki," his sister Mari answers, automatically. Her flat, polite tone makes him smile.

"Hi Sis," he starts. "Mom called earlier, is everyone OK there?"

There's a shift as Yuuri can hear his sister realise it's not a customer calling, and she relaxes into the conversation. "Oh, yeah. Don't worry, we're all good here, I think she just wanted to ask if you were coming home at all this year? Minako-sensei probably won't be heading back to Detroit for another month or so, apparently. I'll get Mom for you, she's just unloading the laundry."

Footsteps are muffled down the line, and Yuuri can hear the clattering of the kitchen staff cleaning up as she passes the kitchens before the familiar rumbling of the laundry room. Mari calls their mother from her job, probably switching places, as she passes the phone over. A thank you accompanies the exchange, before the older woman is addressing Yuuri directly.

"Hi baby boy, sorry if I called too early before."

"It's OK, Mom," he starts. "I had a late night with the summer solstice yesterday, so I ended up sleeping late." He stretches his back out as he speaks, the pull of his shoulders having him bite back a groan.

Somewhere from beyond his bedroom door, movement betrays Phichit has returned from his morning yoga class in the park. The Phi Pa's first class is at eleven, and his footsteps retreat to the other end of the apartment, just before the telltale creak of the pipes rumble as his roommate turns on their shower.

"How is business? Were you able to fix the main pump over the weekend?"

"Oh, yes! Nakamura-san managed to find the issue with the pressure falling. Luckily we only had to have the onsen drained over lunchtime on Saturday, so the fix didn't affect any of the customers."

"I'm glad it wasn't worse." His family has always kept the onsen baths in perfect condition, but the last few years' falling patronage has meant maintenance costs are less readily available. Which reminded him. "Have you gotten the money I sent last week?

"Yes, it arrived," his mother replies hesitantly, before continuing. "But Yuuri, you don't need to worry about us here. You should keep your money for yourself."

He's had this argument with his both of his parents previously, so he knows it's futile in trying to convince them that the sizeable chunk of his paycheck he sends twice a month is the best way he knows how to help his family. In Japan, finding a stable job as a malignant Yokai was near impossible, so Yuuri had moved from Hasetsu to Detroit for just that reason. No one wants to get close to a creature they don't understand, and with the Yokai population slowly falling, the onsen was getting less and less popular. The sanctuary city was far from perfect, but by moving to a place that actively encouraged supernatural residents to live and work there, he could help with his family's expenses.

"I have to do something for the onsen, being so far away," Yuuri answers truthfully. Being in Japan held no future for him, but he misses his family fiercely. "It makes me feel better if I'm helping you and Dad and Mari."

"Oh, Yuuri, you're so sweet," his mother sighs fondly. Yuuri can tell she's biting back whatever else she wants to say to that, instead just accepting his familiar explanation as always before changing the topic. "You said you went to the solstice festival - did you have fun?"

"Oh, yeah… Phichit and I went together. It was fun with all the Associations getting together; it always reminds me of the summer festivals with you and the Kitsune."

Hasetsu's festivals had always been heavy with local Yokai, being so far from the city, but a still-young Yuuri had only ever dared to go along with his family or Minako-sensei, long ago before the war. Yuuko-chan, the sweet human girl who had befriended Yuuri before he had had the rationality to avoid humans, had always encouraged him to join the larger group of kids, but he had never been confident enough against the others' jeers and cruel taunting of ' _cursed_ '. Yuuri would instead watch the fireworks from the safety of the shrine gates, hand-in-hand with Mari or Minako, fox fire flickering alongside them.

"Did you have your fortune taken?" His mother breaks into his reverie with her question, aware of Phichit's love for the mystic fates. Rather than let his mood get dragged down again, Yuuri decides to ask perhaps the only other person who might understand his worries. "I actually...wanted to ask you about something that happened at the festival."

"Is something wrong?"

"It's not - I'm not hurt or anything, but I just don't know how to feel," he tries to assure her, before working up to what he wants to share. "I met someone."

"You _met_ someone?!" Mari yells incredulously from wherever she listening from. Stomach twisting again in nerves, Yuuri can only keep pushing himself through his own unease to continue on.

"I don't know what to do - I'm afraid about what might happen to him if he stays around me."

"Is he a human?" His mother's voice is soft, inquiring. As a Hone-Onna herself, she's likely acutely aware of the implications if the answer is yes.

"No. Or, I don't think so." His one relief in the situation. Yuuri might already have sent himself bedridden if Viktor had been a fragile _human_ on top of everything else. "No one as beautiful as he is could be human."

There's a long pause as the older Hone-Onna seems to consider his answer. Yuuri can hear the soothing melody of the onsen water cascading as she moves in her work, as he waits for her to respond. The sound has never failed to relax him, and even now, on the other side of the world, is no different. With a deep exhale, he lets some of the tension in his posture slip away as he waits.

His mother's voice is very deliberately measured as she finally asks, "Then why are you worried, Yuuri? Your father and I are still both in good health." Now, alone and several hours outside of his dances with Viktor, he's graced both with hindsight and rationality. At least, Yuuri thinks, he doesn't have to worry about running into Viktor during his daily life until he's more prepared, or has made a decision on what he wants to do. He knows, intellectually, that loving another Otherworldly wouldn't necessarily curse him to the lonely life of the folklore, but his turbulent mind and a lifetime of trepidation don't seem to care.

Plus, there are larger practical things to worry about too.

"I don't know anything about him, Mom. This is crazy." Viktor is a beautiful stranger who excitedly danced with Yuuri for over an hour, but he could be anyone. Yuuri's mind immediately jumps to the possibility of the other man hunting down mortals in the dead of night, or luring unsuspecting people to drown in murky waters. He's certainly striking enough to be successful.

"Not to mention, he's just moved to Detroit - he might not have any interest in a relationship at all," he argues further, trying to disperse the more sinister possibilities of Viktor's identity with a shake of his head. "My mind is getting ahead of itself, and I just keep thinking about the fortune I got last night from the Oracle. I don't want to hurt him if it's wrong."

"Oh, sweetheart," she says, her voice soft in understanding, careful against the fragile fear buried in Yuuri's chest as he feels himself tremble. Even now, after so many years, she coaxes him into sharing his thoughts, her understanding and unconditional love giving him the strength to voice his fears.

"I just can't imagine someone loving me at all, let alone a lifetime." His voice is barely a whisper in the quiet of the room, but he knows she heard him clearly. Yuuri can almost feel the phantom memory of her touch, smoothing down his hair, his back, in reassurance.

"Well, we all love and miss you here."

"You know that's not what I meant," he replies with a wet laugh, fond tears rising up unbidden. Yuuri appreciates it, but it's not exactly helping him with the confusing war in his mind between six decades of apprehension and newly blossoming hope. "Just, forget I mentioned it."

There's a disapproving tut on the other side of the phone, and his mother mutters something away from the phone so he can't hear. "Yuuri, I wish you could see the wonderful person everyone else sees you as. If your heart thinks it's right, trust it a little.

"And be sure to visit with this mysterious _someone_ when you can. The plum blossoms are beautiful during spring."

"Mom!" He knows it's just a tease, but Yuuri can't help his heart sinking a little more at her words. The reality of making it back to Japan anytime soon is impossible for him. He hates disappointing her, and a sour taste stings at the back of his throat. "Anyway, I don't know if I can take time off work right now at all, and the springtime classes always get a boost in enrolments."

It sounds more like an excuse when he hears himself saying it, but Yuuri doesn't want to promise anything. Hiroko is unimpressed.

"If Minako-senpai can leave the studio for three months to come back home, I'm sure she would be happy to give you some time off to visit."

Sighing, Yuuri moves from his bedroom to the kitchen, wanting to check the monthly schedule he and Phichit keep on their fridge. Words written in thick marker cover the calendar sheet, as expected, and he tries to see how many classes he could get covered if he did take a break once Minako-sensei was back.

"See you, Yuuri," Phichit says, fresh from his shower and ready to leave. Yuuri just waves his hand in acknowledgement to his best friend as the Phi Pa heads to the studio first, locking their front door behind him.

Squinting as he tries to read the messy handwriting clustered the end of the month, Yuuri gives up on the flicker of want he has to see his family at the chaos of the studio's demands. "We wouldn't have enough instructors if people could take time off whenever we wanted."

He talks a little longer with his mother after that, running through daily chores as he listens to all the recent goings-on at the onsen. His phone is pressed between his ear and his shoulder as he brews himself a coffee, and sorts through the mail from the day before. It's only when Yuuri is watering the multitudes of potted plants on their balcony that his mother bids him farewell - making Yuuri promise to call more often.

Watering can in one hand, he looks to the silent screen of his phone in the other, milling over the conversation with his mother.

His parents had met right at the end of the Meiji Restoration when Japan had started to reintegrate Shintoism and Buddhism back into society like it had once been up until the start of the Heian period. Yokai rights had improved immensely with the change, and the two had easily opened the onsen after their marriage. As a Haradashi, his father was well-suited to entertaining guests, and in the century since its opening, the onsen had welcomed everyone - Otherworldly and Mortal alike.

Yuuri loves his family, but none of them had ever been victim to their own emotions like he is. He doesn't fit well into the small-town expectation of Yokai, and it probably was no surprise when he had left for the United States. Yuuri is a mess of contradictions. Anxiety fueled by decades of understanding that Hone-Onna don't get a happy ending. A stumbling fool after a few drinks, desperately wanting to please and entertain others, thanks to the spark of Haradashi blood from his father running through him.

Groaning again after remembering that embarrassing fact, Yuuri can't help but regret the two cups of kuchikamizake he'd had the night before. No wonder it had been so easy to act so stupidly rash and asking for a dance, if Viktor had needed cheering up.

Even so, Yuuri can't help wondering if it worked.

*

"Minako is staying in Japan 'til August apparently, I dunno if you've spoken to her," Yuuri shares after Phichit bids his 4 p.m. class goodbye. Yuuri has spent the last hour trying his best to rearrange the class schedule so that they might all get a break _sometime_ in the near future.

"Gods, of course," Phichit groans. Sweat lines his brow, and the Phi Pa looks like he's itching to take a break to man the reception until the studio closes for the night. They can both hear the music from the Modern Jazz class from down the hall, and Phichit takes a sip from his water bottle before continuing. "I'm not going to be the one to tell Michele - I quite enjoy being alive, thanks."

"Hopefully Sara will buffer the blow." Yuuri knows that it's probably unwise to always be on the bad side of a demigod, but there's not much he can do - it's not his fault Minako is staying for Obon at Fushimi-Inari.

"Ugh, I just hate having her subjected to her brother again."

“Unfortunately, I think she’s used to it.”  Even with the knowledge that Sara is blessed under the Roman Gods, Yuuri still worries for her most days.  Despite his adoration for his sister in every way, Michele expects the same from everyone else, creating a seething ire for all of Sara’s male coworkers.

As if summoned, the electronic bell above the door rings out as the Italian demigod walks in, hands in his jacket pockets.

"Evening Michele, you're here early," Phichit chances, and Yuuri can't help but flinch against the unimpressed, wary look that gets.

"I have to make sure there's no funny business going on. I can't leave Sara alone to fend off any of you monsters," he says, looking directly to Yuuri as he does. The Yokai mentally reels, and has to take a moment to fully process what has been said. It stings like nettles, the slur barbed with Yuuri's own insecurities, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to not react because he _knows_ Michele doesn't understand why it hurts. Before Phichit can say anything to defend him, Yuuri just touches his friend's hand softly and gives Michele a strained smile, before retreating to the staff changing area.

His locker door clatters as he opens it, before pulling his uniform shirt off to replace it with his usual dance gear. Fighting the soft fabric as he struggles to find the neck hole in his haste, all it does is increase the dizzyingly fast panic that's flared up. Sitting on the bench behind him once finally pulling his shirt on, he has to force himself to swallow back the tightness in his throat as he tries to calm down. ' _Monster_ ' still echoes in his mind, but he tries his best to recollect himself before returning to the front foyer. Detroit is many things, but that doesn't mean it is unfamiliar with schisms within its various residents - a natural conclusion when nocturnal and carnivorous beings, placid and celebrated nature spirits, fickle and uncaring gods, all live and exist together.

For Sara and Michele, who had been blessed by gods merely due to being born as twins like Italy's great founders Romulus and Remus, society's stigmas and prejudices have never stuck to them the same way they do for many others. Monster is just a word for them, a descriptor with neutral meaning that didn't have centuries of hurt behind it. Yuuri knows this, but cultural shame and fear are hard things to fight against, and he's embarrassed at how much a thoughtless comment affects him. Closing his eyes, he breathes deep, enough that he can imagine every wrinkle and bump of his body filling with air, and he imagines sinking into the onsen, letting its hot waters rinse everything away. It only takes four exhales before the shake from his frame starts to leave, and he's proud of himself for rationalising things through before spiralling too far.

By the time Yuuri returns from the staff changing room, Michele is still waiting, arms crossed as he sits slumped in one of the empty chairs by the door. There's an uneasy silence only broken by the staccato clack of the computer keys as Phichit writes up a promotional flyer for the annual summer deals the studio always has, his friend still glowering in anger. Yuuri is about to say something to ease the tension, but the stream of people leaving for the night, followed by Sara, interrupts him. She ducks into the staff area that Yuuri had just been in and Michele stands from his seat in an attempt to avoid the Otherworldlies heading for the door.

Sara is back out in less than 5 minutes, hair tied up in a bun and dancing flats exchanged for well-worn sneakers. Shrugging on her oversized cardigan, she gives a wave to Yuuri and Phichit before turning to her brother.

"Sara, just before you go," Yuuri beckons, pointing to the computer Phichit had just been working on, and she turns back to them. Sara leans on one arm to get a good look at the screen once she reaches the desk, humming quizzically when she sees the schedule.

"What's up?" Yuuri can feel the pointed stare of her brother at the interruption, but refuses to acknowledge it.

"Minako says she's staying in Japan until the end of the month. There's an important cleansing ritual this year during Obon, so she's heading to the main shrine for the event."

Unsurprisingly, she groans, just like Phichit had. "We better be getting some vacation time after all this," she jokes, and Yuuri chuckles in agreement. Rather than join their easy laughter, Phichit focuses an irritated, unwavering glare to Michele as the Italian mutters his complaint.

Yuuri brings up his improved class roster, pointing to the changes that he had adjusted for with another several weeks without Minako. "I'll be able to take over your Thursday 10 a.m. ballet class for you so you can have some more time off."

"Yuuri, you're already doing so much. I'm happy to take the beginners ballet."

"But this way you don't have to come in until the afternoon. I'm already here anyway, and there's only the one class running," he argues back. Sara takes a moment to think, plush lip bit between her teeth before she finally nods in agreement. Really, it's not much more work for Yuuri this way, and now both Sara and Phichit can take a break during the week. It's only until the end of the month too, after all.

Sara bids them both a goodnight before leading her brother out, her voice sharp in complaint at his overbearing nature and bad mood. Michele looks properly cowed, but both Yuuri and Phichit know he'll be back again tomorrow to pick his sister up.

"I'd call him an asshole, but that'd be offensive to all the wonderful butts out there," Phichit finally huffs once the twins have disappeared beyond the block. "We certainly don't have to wonder which one is the evil twin."

Snorting down a laugh, Yuuri fondly bumps his hip into where Phichit is sitting, a wordless thanks. "He's not evil, just ignorant."

"You're far too forgiving, my friend."

"Probably."

There's only another fifteen minutes until Yuuri's 6 p.m. Contemporary class and some of his regulars have started to arrive. Familiar faces smile and wave to him as they pass to get ready, and Yuuri greets each of them warmly, welcoming them back. Falling back into his normal routine, the last of his lingering hurt fades, and Yuuri is looking forward to getting class started, if only to forget it all.

Busy with reissuing the membership of one of his most avid patrons, the Hone-Onna doesn't notice the other two waiting behind her for the reception desk until a low chuckle grabs his attention.

Elbow in one hand as the other pillows his cheek, Chris smiles wide with mirth and winks conspiratorially once he has Yuuri's attention. Viktor is by his side, a gym bag bundled under one arm and eyes wide as he looks like he wants to say something to Yuuri - opening his mouth before second-guessing himself and closing it again. There's a soft nervousness prickling the moment, and Yuuri can't help how his eyes are drawn to Viktor, his hands remembering the warm rush of having the other in his arms the night before. A crawling heat rises up his neck as Yuuri realises he's staring, but he can't help but notice delicate pink blush brushing across the tips of Viktor's ears.

"Viktor wants to join me for your class tonight, if there's enough room for us, cheri." Yuuri is shocked from his reverie, embarrassed that he had once again forgot Chris and Phichit's presence whilst focused on Viktor, and he mentally chastises himself at his own weakness. Rather than fumbling over his own tongue, Yuuri just nods.

He hasn't prepared enough to see Viktor again so soon, but he has a class to run regardless.

Once Viktor and Chris disappear into the changerooms after paying, Yuuri takes another deep breath, fighting off the panic that had threatened to bubble up again. It's the last class of the evening, and if he can survive this he can head home with Phichit and try to quash his spiralling emotions under complex carbohydrates and trashy American television. To avoid having to properly confront his attraction to the man he had met the night before for just a few more hours.

Viktor stands at the back, behind the regulars as Yuuri runs through the warm up. Contemporary dance isn't his strongest style, but the first beats of the music help him loosen up as his mind quiets, focused on the routine.

The class runs smoothly as ever, and Yuuri can't help how his eyes seem to drift to the back of the room during run-throughs - graceful movements accentuated by long limbs and ashy hair bundled up. Viktor is just as riveting when dancing alone as he was when he was trying to match Yuuri's steps, and the smile he wears - soft and serene - makes Yuuri wish he could join him, weaving between the steps of the other. Refocusing on the other dancers in his class is hard when his attention is so completely held by Viktor, but thankfully Yuuri is mostly successful in running the class like normal - a testament to how much his teaching habits have become instinctual by now.

It's a 2 hour class that feels over in a moment, and when the final notes of the free dance music stop and everyone moves into cool downs, he can't help but be disappointed. And then surprised at his own disappointment.

He doesn't have long to spend disappointed though, as Viktor approaches him almost immediately as people start drifting out to go home. A few fine hairs have escaped from their place during the dance class, giving him an approachably rumpled look, blue eyes bright with his smile. Yuuri watches a drop of sweat fall from his hairline to preoccupy himself from just blatantly falling into the other's gaze, but he can't avoid how happy he looks.

"Yuuri, that was so much fun! Thank you for letting me participate today."

"Of course, Viktor, you're always welcome." He hadn't expected to see Chris and Viktor so soon, but Yuuri would never turn anyone away from the studio - especially Viktor, who seemed even more energised after the class than before. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Shadows flicker at the edge of blue eyes as Viktor ducks his head, pleased.

"I was never allowed to dance like that back in St Petersburg. I missed it."

"Well, we have all sorts of classes here. Minako - my boss - usually takes Contemporary, so sorry if it was pretty basic." Shrugging at the reality of his own inadequacy, Yuuri resets the speaker system and pulls his music as he talks. It's past 8 p.m. and he'll have to close up the studio for the night before heading home with his roommate. Then back again, bright and early for morning classes.

Viktor frowns, a displeased noise slipping before he continues with, "Not at all. You're very good at your job."

It feels awkward to accept the compliment, so instead Yuuri purposefully ignores it.

"Did you - do you want to start a membership?"

Any trace of displeasure is gone from Viktor's face as soon as that registers, and Yuuri has to blink away in order to combat against the sheer happiness the other man is emitting.

"I'd love to! I want to come everyday after work, if I can." He hadn't expected Viktor to be so enthusiastic about it, and Yuuri can feel himself smiling widely to match.

It only takes a few minutes for Yuuri to fill out the form and take the other's picture, printing out the plastic card. The dancer doesn't even have to go through the membership options, as Viktor just hands him a credit card, uncaring of the cost. When he gets the newly printed membership card from the machine, Viktor is quietly reverent as Yuuri gives it to him, his eyes soft as he looks to it. Within a moment that look is hidden by a wider smile, and Yuuri doesn't dwell on it for more than a moment.

Viktor had quickly shifted focus, moving one hand to undo the haphazard bun he'd put up, regarding his own grainy face on the plastic card. Silver hair cascades down his back once it's been freed, and it shines under the fluorescents in ways that shouldn't be possible. He's caught staring again when Phichit reemerges from locking up the back and jabs him in the ribs, Yuuri throwing him a dirty look.

"Thank you, again," Viktor says as he slides both his membership and credit cards into his wallet; stuffing the item into one of his bag's pockets before looking back to Yuuri, like he can't help but want to see his face. It makes the Hone-Onna feel a little daring. "Not at all, I'm happy you had fun." One of Yuuri's hands fiddles with his keychain, gathering up his courage. "Today, and last night too."

The wonderful pink blush from before smatters across high cheekbones and perked ears at the reminder of the solstice. Chris reemerges from the public change rooms with a flourish, stealing Viktor's attention and whatever he was going to say. It's only once he's following the Swiss man outside that Viktor seems to remember, spinning back around with a grin.

"I'm so glad we could become friends, Yuuri." Smile wide and heart-shaped, as he waves goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

Yuuri's mind is busy with everything that had happened over the past two hours, two days, and it's overwhelming. Viktor, a bright spot he had never experienced before, and the nerves buzzing in his bones are nothing like the ones he had had after Michele's thoughtless comment. Yuuri is jumping into this with no direction, but there's no way he could resist.

Friends. Friends is a good start.

*

Viktor is true to his word, and comes to the studio every evening for whichever class Yuuri is taking.

The Russian is far from a beginner, but he's not suited to every style - his hip hop needs some work, and Yuuri's not sure whether Viktor will ever be able to spin around the pole like he seems so desperately to want. Even when he's fumbling through a routine, Viktor just laughs, happy and persistent. He's a great addition to every class, and Yuuri smiles back whenever he catches blue eyes with his own. Sometimes Chris joins him, but more often than not, it's only Viktor walking through the studio's door - his hair up in a bun, and dressed in comfortable clothes.

It's a nice new addition to his routine, seeing Viktor every day. Thanks to the new schedule, Yuuri spends almost every waking hour running a class, often rushing down a meal before collapsing into bed to sleep. Phichit had always teased him about unending stamina, but after twelve hour days holding classes, even Yuuri can't do much aside from getting home. Having Viktor in his last class for the day was the last small boost of energy that got him through every night - surprising himself at how much he looks forward to their interactions.

"You never hang around after class. I wouldn't mind if you wanted to stay as I close the studio," Yuuri chances one Friday night. He's hoping to extend their talk a little more, and to maybe find a meal together before bidding each other goodnight. Rather than the infectious agreement he had expected from Viktor, instead, the Russian man apologises, shaking his head with a small smile.

"I feel bad if I'm not at home in time for dinner. Makka gets lonely without me, and Yura would kill me if I let his food go to waste."

He speaks with a soft fondness, and Yuuri feels like a fool for thinking that he and Viktor were getting closer. Even now, after two weeks of Viktor attending his classes, the amount of time they have spent talking is less than an hour. Yuuri still doesn't know much about Viktor at all, reaffirming to himself that there was no way the heart-thumping happiness that was drawing them together was love. "I didn't realise you were keeping people waiting. I'm sorry if I'm holding you up?"

Of course Viktor has a partner. Of course Yuuri never had a chance. Viktor is new to the city and looking for friends; Yuuri had gotten ahead of himself despite all his trepidation. Chastising himself for being just like the stereotypes - idiotically single-minded and desperate.

"No, not at all, Yuuri, don't worry. I really wish I could stay longer, but Yura is a grumpy, meddling teen who cares more than he'd ever admit, and my darling Makka needs her evening walk before it gets too late." Seemingly taken aback by the sudden change of mood, Viktor waves his hands in front of him in a panic, futilely trying to placate and assure Yuuri somehow.

"I'm sorry?" Yuuri is unsure whether he had heard right. Confused, all Yuuri can think is that it sounds like Viktor has a family waiting at home, but the way he says it is weird.

Viktor continues, unperturbed. "I always tell him he doesn't have to worry about making meals - I'm an adult, after all! - but he insists that I don't eat enough. I think Mila told him to keep an eye on me just to keep him busy.

"I do appreciate him letting Makka out in the afternoon though. I walk her before I leave for work, of course, but she's all alone during the day without me around. I try to make sure I'm home the same time every day so I can let her sniff around before bed; she loves that."

Oh. _Oh._

"I didn't know you had a dog."

Horror flashes across Viktor's face at Yuuri's words, ashamed at the oversight. The Russian fishes his phone from a pocket and brings up a photograph of a large poodle, well-loved and fluffy. "She's my best friend," Viktor shares in a lowered voice, like it's some big secret. "Makkachin doesn't help much with chores, but she's a great conversationalist. I should introduce you two; she's a great judge of character, so I know you'll get along well."

Yuuri flips through the camera roll with a smile, distant memories flaring up at the sight of such a familiar face.

"She looks a lot like the dog I had when I was a child. A lot bigger than he was, though." The brown curls and black eyes of Viktor's dog make Yuuri's heart swell with fondness, and the phantom feeling of Vicchan's warmth prickles under his fingertips.

Viktor seems to be overflowing with enthusiasm and curiosity - clutching the phone to his chest as he gasps. "You also had a poodle? What was his name?"

"Vicchan..." Yuuri says, abashed and self-conscious. "Short for Victor."

The effect of that revelation is immediate. Hands move to cover the smile that breaks out across Viktor's face, and blue eyes sparkle. "We share a name! Wow, Yuuri, it's fate! Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"It's just a coincidence. A friend and I found him abandoned as a puppy - he was in a _Victor Talking Machine Company_ box, so the name stuck." Viktor looks unconvinced at Yuuri's dismissal, leaning closer in excitement.

"Do you have any photos?"

He does, buried in a shoebox that he can't bear to pull out from the back of his closet. His grief still stings raw to see his old, lost friend in grainy black and white pictures, even now seven decades later. On the other side of the world, the best picture still sits on the family altar in Hasetsu - a gangly pre-pubescent Yuuri dressed in standard kimono with Vicchan sat at his feet, tongue lolling in a pant. Nishigori had taken the photograph and kindly gifted it to Yuuri, and it takes pride of place as his most treasured possession.

"Not digital ones. He was… It was a long time ago." Yuuri is vague, but Viktor seems to understand regardless. "I'll be sure to bring one of my printed ones for you next time."

"I look forward to it," Viktor says, charming smile flashing, genuine.

It's the first step to bridging their friendship closer, and Yuuri can't help smiling back.

*

The summer heat is only placated by the filtered air conditioning of the arrivals terminal. Yuuri is trying his hardest to keep himself cool by standing away from the crush of people waiting around, his hand-fanning not enough to fight against the late-August weather. The sound of multitudinous footsteps comes down the hall, and a stream of mortals and Otherworldlies make their way to meet friends and family, or rush through to baggage claim.

Minako is as exuberant as ever, graceful movements betraying her centuries of dance. She shines out from the surrounding crowd, and when she spots Yuuri, her smile is wide and pointed as always. He had grown up with that smile, the Kitsune the closest thing to an Aunt he had, and his dance teacher for longer than he could remember. She hugs him tight once close enough, spinning him around with a strength contrary to how thin her frame looks, but Yuuri knows how strong the senior dancer is.

"Welcome home," he greets in Japanese. "We missed you here."

"I bet you did. You look tired, Yuuri."

"It hasn't been that bad. Long days, but we were able to handle it."

"Uh huh, sure. Well, I have to go make sure you three didn't burn down the studio whilst I was gone - so lead the way, kiddo!"

It's the best part of an hour before they manage to get through baggage claim and then on the shuttle to downtown Detroit. The busyness of the shuttle and noise of the traffic down the main street doesn't stop Minako from updating Yuuri on everyone in Hasetsu. The fox spirit had originally returned to Japan over three months before to help with the celebrations for her home shrine's 500th anniversary. Over the several weeks she had stayed in the small seaside town, Minako had spent much of the time at the Yu-topia Katsuki as her own small house had been sold years before. Yuuri laughs when Minako tells him about the drinking matches between his father and the old Kappa Fujita-san; many nights ending with the Haradashi dancing with his belly out, the goofy face on his stomach out for all to see.

The shuttle drops them off only six blocks away from the studio and Minako's apartment above. Her bag is on wheels, so there's no problem walking the rest of the way. Together they walk her suitcase up the stairs to Minako's home, and Yuuri helps deposit it just inside the door. The ageless fox spirit looks around her apartment for anything amiss, happily waving a hand for Yuuri to sit on her couch once she's done a quick once-over. Yuuri had made sure the apartment was clean and Minako's mail was answered throughout her time in Japan, and thankfully his dance instructor seems impressed. Minako sets the kettle before disappearing into her bedroom to shower and change, and Yuuri prepares them both tea when it whistles. The older woman returns looking fresher and with her tails on full display, happily accepting her cup when offered. They only have a little longer to chat before Yuuri has to head back downstairs for his last class. Minako follows him down, eager to see the rest of her staff.

The electronic bell buzz announces their entrance to the studio, and it takes a second for Phichit to register who's arrived - breaking into a wide smile as Yuuri lets Minako pass. The Phi Pa looks on the verge of tears as he bustles their boss into a hug, his body shaking a little as he clings to her. Yuuri hadn't realised how much Phichit had missed the Kitsune.

"Oh my gods, you're actually here. I half-thought Yuuri was going to come back from the airport alone, just saying 'Minako decided not to come back'." Minako and Yuuri both laugh at the thought, but a heavy cold weight settles in the base of the Hone-Onna's stomach at the possibility. How much longer would he have survived without Minako's watchful eye a steadfast constant?

"No need to worry, sproutling," Minako says as she ruffles Phichit's hair. "I couldn't leave you three alone for good - the studio has a reputation to uphold, after all." The joke earns a playful nudge in the ribs and the two laugh together. "It looks like I didn't need to worry though."

"We seriously deserve some time off. I don't think Yuuri's slept since you left with how many classes he's been covering."

"That's not true. You know I sleep just fine." His best friend just rolls his eyes and Minako sighs in the familiar way she always has when she's fond but exasperated with him.

"Don't worry, the class assignments are going to go back to how they were before I left now that I'm back." Moving to the bulletin board with the class schedule Yuuri had adjusted over the past three months, Minako assesses how things have been running in her absence. "You will all get some time off though too, of course. Two weeks paid vacation each is no problem if you three rotate the time off - I'll be able to cover the classes of whoever's off."

"Yes!!" Phichit shouts in celebration, pumping his fist in the air. "Two weeks off! I can finally finish my sitcom marathon!"

The idea of getting a break after the hellish past few months is elating. Yuuri's already dreaming about sleeping in until lunchtime. "Who gets time off first?"

"I was thinking you, Yuuri." A sly snicker escapes from the woman at his eagerness. "You were in charge for so long, you should have a break before you collapse."

Phichit is nodding vehemently, much to Yuuri's chagrin. "Both of you are terrible. I'm fine." He's not going to refuse the offer though. Suddenly, Phichit shouts - whilst not completely unusual for the Phi Pa, Yuuri still jumps when his best friend smacks his hands to the reception desk. "What's Viktor gonna do if you're not here? He always takes your 6 p.m. class."

"Huh? Who are we talking about?" Yuuri doesn't need Minako to stop her shape-shifting magic to know her ears are perked in attention, and he groans at the inevitable conversation set to embarrass him.

Phichit wastes no time spilling his gossip, as he turns to their boss. "Yuuri has an admirer, although it's pretty mutual from what I've seen!" Minako is rapt, eyes widening and biting her lip as Phichit continues, happy to have someone new to share the information with. "Chris introduced us at the festival, and our boy here wasted no time getting him to the dance floor. You should've seen them Minako! I was worried I'd have to break some fingers to get Yuuri home."

"Really? Our Yuuri is really interested in someone?"

Yuuri doesn't know if his mother had mentioned Yuuri's worries about Viktor to Minako during her stay or not, but from the disbelief on her face he can only assume she disbelieved her if she did.

"It's not a big deal. Viktor's new to town and likes dancing; it was just a well-timed coincidence."

"That's not true," Phichit stage whispers, not caring if Yuuri can hear him. "Today will be five weeks since he started coming here every day, and he only ever goes to the classes Yuuri runs. He's being painfully obvious, and not once have I seen Yuuri actively avoid him. Plus, he's really hot."

Before Yuuri can splutter back, he's interrupted by Viktor himself walking through the door. Phichit lights up at the sight, eager to prove his point to Minako, but Yuuri ignores them both in favour to smile at the new arrival.

"You're early today."

"I was kicked out of my apartment earlier than usual. Yuri - ah, my resident Domovoi I told you about - said I was being distracting whilst he was cooking. He's making his specialty, pirozhki." Deflating in his usual excitement slightly, Viktor continues, "I wanted to bring some for you to try, but it wasn't ready in time."

Distracted by the tempting idea of sharing a meal with Viktor, Yuuri replies, "Next time."

Somewhere behind Yuuri, the Kitsune coughs in interruption. Remembering himself, he stands a little straighter, turning a little to indicate Minako's presence behind him. "Viktor, this is Minako Okukawa. She owns the studio, and was the one who taught me dance."

Bright blue eyes flash in acknowledgement when he sees the fox, and Viktor gives her a charming smile and nod.

"Viktor Nikiforov," he introduces himself as he offers his hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Okukawa. I have to thank you for your wonderful studio. I haven't had the opportunity to dance in the past several years, so I've gotten quite spoilt here. Everyone is so welcoming, it's quickly become my favourite place in the city."

It's easy to tell Minako is pleased and impressed with what she sees, eyes darting to Yuuri's for a second before going back to Viktor, her smile curled over sharp teeth. She takes the proffered hand Viktor has extended, shaking it with gusto. "I've heard you've become quite the regular over the past few months. I'm glad my instructors could make you feel comfortable enough to attend so often."

Viktor's looks to Yuuri, briefly, before nodding in agreement. "And many more days to come, I hope." The tone in the Russian's voice is laced with humour, but a telltale wrinkle in the corner of blue eyes catches Yuuri's attention. It reminds the Yokai of when they first met, when Viktor had stood quiet, watching from afar, before Chris had dragged him into introductions. A hint seeping sadness in his frame that Yuuri had almost forgotten about, seeing Viktor's smile every day since.

Unaware of Viktor's subtle mood flicker or Yuuri's quiet realisation, Minako keeps talking.

"It's been a while since I've had a Vila join my classes. I thought the community looked down on public dancing now?" Hand on her hip, she punctions her question with a tilt of her head. Her brown eyes spark with molten gold magic, as if to encourage Viktor to spill his reasoning in joining a group dance class every night.

"I wouldn't know, I wasn't here for all the weird political shifts and restrictions."

Minako nods in understanding. "Recently reborn?"

"Five years since, and believe me when I say it's taken a while to catch up on the changes." Viktor laughs light and easy as he talks, despite the shock that his statement causes in Yuuri. "Society, science and the arts have changed immensely since the establishment of the Romanov Dynasty. Even now I'm doubtful that electricity isn't thanks to magic."

Yuuri can't help but listen, burning in curiosity at the exchange between Viktor and Minako. During their conversations Yuuri hadn't wanted to push for any more information than Viktor had willingly given, scared he might annoy the other man with his nosiness. Because of that, the other Otherworldly had mostly stayed a mystery, leaving Yuuri to speculate on what type of being his new friend is, and his motivations to come to Detroit.

After five decades travelling the world with dance groups and productions, Minako is much more familiar with the international community than Yuuri will ever be, so he's relying on her six centuries of experience to learn more.

"There are a lot of problems with modern life, as always, and nothing is perfect, but at least here in Detroit we're free to live as we like," Minako says, sweeping her arm in a show that she's including Phichit and Yuuri in her statement. "I hope you've found that freedom here too."

"I think I have." VIktor looks to Yuuri openly now, any semblance of subtlety gone, and the dance instructor feels the heat of heavy blush crawl up from his toes. He doesn't dare blink, in fear that it might just be his daydreaming and hopes messing with his head. Whatever else is said Yuuri doesn't hear it, even as Viktor looks back to Minako, his own heartbeat thudding loudly over the conversation. His throat tightens, strangling anything that may have tried to escape him, and watches as Viktor finally retreats to change for class, long silver hair swinging as he does.

Once the other man has disappeared behind the door, Yuuri finally releases the breath he had been holding. The rapid pace of his heart and whirling mind is reminiscent of a panic attack, but none of the pooling dread is shadowing his thoughts, rising like bile until he's drowning in it. Instead, Yuuri's still floating, buoyant. He fights back the urge to laugh, a slight edge of hysteria to everything he's feeling. Minako had also watched Viktor leave, and turns back with the widest grin of mischief Yuuri's seen in half a century, fitting for a fox.

"You did well, he's definitely a looker." One hand moves to fan herself in a mock fluster as she winks. "Though I didn't know you were so weak to a pretty face, Yuuri."

"Minako!"

She laughs heartily at his scandalous look, patting Yuuri's shoulder in reassurance. "I'm only teasing you. I am surprised though; I thought your mother was joking when she told me you had met someone - you always made me believe you wanted to avoid getting too attached to other people."

Yuuri can't do much besides shrug in resignation, he can't fault what she's saying. "He - we don't know much about each other yet, but when I'm talking to him, I'm not afraid of all the possible things that could go wrong… It's irrational, and I know it probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'm tired of running away from things."

Rather than the chastising he's expecting, Minako hugs Yuuri tight for the second time that day, his feet off the floor when she lifts him up. Tickling her nose against his just like she had when he was growing up, it reminds Yuuri of decades of her strict training, paired with kind support. The fox puts him down before rubbing at her eyes in an effort to fight off happy tears.

"It makes perfect sense to me - you're happier, and it shows. That's all I've ever wanted for you."

Yuuri has to hurry and collect himself if he wants to pass off as calm for his class in ten minutes, but the rush of overwhelming emotion Minako's words has caused means he's taking deep breaths and swallowing the scratchy dryness of his throat. The older Yokai keeps herself quiet, knowing how to hear everything Yuuri can't put to words, and he appreciates her even more now than he ever had. Giving her face a final scrub, she laughs at herself before heading to the reception desk to go over the schedule. Yuuri follows her lead, and takes the opportunity to finally get ready for his class, heading to the staff area. As he passes, Minako catches his hand, holding him back for just a moment more.

"Remember you can always talk to me, Yuuri. About anything."

*

Yuuri has been savouring his break from work by sleeping in every morning. The past five days have found Yuuri waking up to a quiet apartment - Phichit long gone for the studio, and nothing but the bustle of downtown traffic and the buzz of their fridge breaking the silence of a Tuesday mid-morning.

Setting the kettle to boil the water for tea, the Hone-Onna flips through the news on his phone before queueing up the latest episode of his favourite podcast. He listens to the hosts joking around with the episode's guest as he pours the hot water over his tea leaves, and laughs at an anecdote about one of the host's mother in law disapproving over his late nights at work, despite being nocturnal herself. Taking his mug in one hand and his phone in the other, Yuuri makes his way to the balcony to enjoy the sunshine before it gets too late in the day.

Even during summer, Detroit never gets as hot as Hasetsu, but Yuuri prefers to avoid the heat regardless which city he's in. The dozens of overgrown plants crammed into Phichit and his small balcony shield any area that might not be protected by the overhang of the building, and Yuuri appreciates the shade surrounding their outdoor seating, allowing him to drink his tea without worry. He spends the next hour just relaxing and listening to the group talk, and Yuuri stretches out on the chair he's sat on.

Once that's done, he's left with nothing to do. Despite needing the time off to recharge, Yuuri has no idea what he's going to do during the rest of his two weeks. The apartment is clean and chores are done, thanks to Phichit picking up Yuuri's slack when the Hone-Onna was at the studio, and he had already burned through his backlog of films Sara kept recommending him. The park two blocks down usually has events to enjoy during this time of day, run by various supernatural associations and university clubs alike, but Yuuri doesn't even want to think about how hot it'll be in a crowd at lunchtime - plus, it's the same park where he had met Viktor during the solstice, and not enough time has passed for Yuuri to associate it with anything else yet.

Remembering the festival, Yuuri can't help but think of Chris' complaints and the possibility of seeing Viktor, and he makes a spur of the moment choice to head to the bookstore. His favourite author released a new novel during the past three months that he had wanted to buy too, so it's a good enough plan for the day.

There's no hope for him putting together a nicer outfit from the clothes he has, but he still stands in front of the bathroom mirror for far longer than required. Any attempt at taming his hair into something presentable is thwarted by his ineptitude, and Yuuri knows it's ridiculous to try and dress up just to go to a bookstore. Sighing in defeat after another failed sweep of his fringe from his face, Yuuri grabs his phone, keys and wallet and heads to leave.

The bookstore is Yuuri's favourite in the city - clean and well-run, but not characterless like the larger chain stores. He had discovered it through Minako, when the Kitsune had introduced him to Lilia back when he had first immigrated to the United States. The Russian woman was one of the many Otherworldlies the fox had met over her years of travel, and the two had maintained their friendship for decades before Minako had moved to Detroit permanently. The studio started as a joint venture between the two friends three decades ago, but Lilia had eventually moved on to her wider array of businesses instead of staying to teach.

The cool air of the airconditioning escapes into the summer's day as he approaches, automatic doors sliding open to let him enter. Unsurprisingly, the store is just as Yuuri remembers since his last visit, and he takes his time idling around the bestseller area looking for the book he wants. The register counter is unmanned so he doesn't see either of the men he had been expecting; Chris and Viktor are likely assisting other customers or in the back, but Yuuri doesn't mind taking his time, considering he has no other plans for the day anyway. There's no rush.

He finds a couple books that sound good from the blurb, and he has a small stack in one arm before he moves to the the next bookcase. He's halfway through checking those titles before either of the bookstore staff return to the front, and Chris audibly gasps when he sees the Yokai browsing the shelves, sautering over to lean against the bookshelf Yuuri had just finished going through.

"Yuuri! You've graced us with your presence today, I see. Took you long enough." Chris winks in his sultry, humoured way, teasing Yuuri like always.

"Sorry, it's been a crazy few weeks. As you can see, I need to catch up on the time I lost," Yuuri says, glancing down to the books he's holding.

"No, I don't mean that. I mean since you've been on break from running classes." The blond chuckles when Yuuri freezes in his movements, surprised. "I've had to spend the last four days listening to Viktor wax poetic over how much he's missed you. Good thing you came today, because I don't know if I would have lasted another week without murdering the poor fool."

Yuuri laughs nervously, wondering just what about himself had captured the other's attention as he uses his free hand to rub the back of his head. It would be a lie to say he hadn't missed seeing the Vila everyday now that Minako was back and the class schedule had returned to normalcy, but Yuuri hadn't dared to expect Viktor to feel the same way. Phichit, Chris and Sara would probably have smacked him if they suspected he was thinking this way, but it's hard to fight against years of acceptance that he'd live his life single. Viktor was a reality Yuuri had never thought possible.

As if summoned, Viktor emerges from the back room, scanning the store before he sees Chris and Yuuri - his whole face lighting up in unbridled elation. Rushing over, the Russian stops just short of tackling Yuuri in a hug before launching into how happy he was to see the Hone-Onna, confirming Chris' early complaints.

"Class isn't the same without you there, Yuuri, I've missed you so much! Not that you don't deserve your rest, of course, I just wish the time would go faster… "

Yuuri can't believe how forlorn his friend looks, one long arm thrown across his forehead in distress, and the Yokai laughs incredulously at how silly Viktor is acting. Pouting in response to Yuuri's reaction to his heartfelt complaints, the Vila just whines, dejected.

"It's only been four days, Viktor." Yuuri punctuates with an apologetic smile as horror washes over Viktor's face, watching him fall into another wave of sadness.

"I won't survive!" Viktor declares with certainty. "Yuuri, are you sure it's only been that long?"

"Positive, sorry."

Viktor's whole frame slumps in defeat. It hurts just to look at him, and Yuuri feels encouraged in taking a risk in being honest, with less of a likelihood of being flat-out rejected. "I've missed seeing you everyday too, Viktor. If you have some free time, maybe we can have lunch together sometime this week?"

The reaction is immediate, and Chris jumps back to avoid the velocity of Viktor's movement - head snapping up and the fine silver of eyelashes framing blue eyes as they widen. After an extended moment in which Viktor seems to realise that Yuuri is being serious, he quickly crosses the distance and hugs Yuuri tight. Talking, but not sounding like he knows what he's saying - instead Viktor is just letting his thoughts spill out uncensored in his excitement. He babbles for half a minute before drawing back and rushing to the back room where he had entered from, leaving Yuuri to blink after him, confused.

"What's going on?"

"Why don't we wait and see, mon cher?" The curl of Chris' smile indicates that he probably knows, but is deciding to revel in Yuuri's confusion rather than enlighten him.

Viktor reemerges, phone in hand, rapidly tapping the screen. Passing it to Yuuri, he already has his contacts open, a partially filled entry with Yuuri's name waiting for him to enter his number into. There are five hearts following his name, and the Yokai quickly deletes them all before putting in his phone number. He hands the phone back wordlessly, and Viktor looks like he's about to break into song. He reenters the five hearts and an extra heart-eyed emoji before saving the contact, much to Yuuri's chagrin. The Hone-Onna doesn't have time to dwell, however, when he feels his own phone vibrate in his pocket - a single heart sitting in his message inbox.

They arrange a meeting for Saturday, and Yuuri goes home with a bag full of books and a trepid feeling of hope.

*

Yuuri double checks the address he's been sent for the hundredth time since he'd left his apartment, the GPS of his phone chirping at each turn he needs to make around downtown Detroit. The cafés and stores that line the streets he's walking are filled with people of all types, enjoying the weekend. Any of the places he passes on his route look like a suitable place for lunch, but Viktor had sent his apartment's address, surprising Yuuri yet again with how much the Russian trusts him.

The renovated building he finds himself at is stately and historic, with a recent repaint refreshing the front. It's much nicer than his own building, and Yuuri can't help but momentarily wonder how well the bookstore pays, if Viktor is able to afford to rent here. Turning off his phone, Yuuri steps into the lobby and searches the list of apartments beside the elevator to find which floor he needs. The smooth ride up through the building is heavy with silence, and the anticipation that has been buzzing under his skin flares up so much that Yuuri's sure he could probably set something on fire from his touch alone.

Jumping slightly when the elevator dings, Yuuri steps out into the hallway with more confidence than he's feeling. Every doubtful thought he's ever had about Viktor returns with a vengeance as he walks to find the correct door, and the Hone-Onna has to physically shake his head to disperse them before he turns around and runs away. The nerves are nothing new, but Yuuri doesn't want to use them as an excuse today. The fact that Viktor is waiting, likely with bated breath, for him to arrive is enough to keep Yuuri focused and committed.

The door is plain and unassuming, and after the suspense and build up his mind had subjected the Yokai to up until now, it's almost a let down that it's so normal. Yuuri knocks sharp and staccato, before standing back with his hands clasped behind his back. The telltale sound of scampering gets closer, Makkachin barking from the other side of the door in excitement for whomever the guest is. Yuuri can't help but smile as the dog barks again, the majority of his trepidation and doubts easing at the noise. There's an annoyed muttering before the lock slides open and the door opens to reveal a short blond teen, frowning as he keeps a leg out to contain the friendly poodle inside the apartment. If Yuuri hadn't been so exhaustively introduced to Makkachin via Viktor's collection of phone pictures previously, he'd be worried he has the wrong place. The irate teen just jerks his head for him to come inside, and Yuuri follows wordlessly - stumbling a little in his haste to get inside before the door slams in his face. Yuuri slips off his shoes in the foyer when he sees the shoe rack by the entrance, and takes advantage of the moment to give Makkachin a fond scritch when she jumps up on him to say hello. In person she's even more reminiscent of Vicchan, her whole body wriggling with the force of her wagging tail.

"Viktor, get out here! Your lover boy's arrived!" the teen yells somewhere into the apartment. The blond had disappeared beyond the front entrance hall before Yuuri had even had the chance to introduce himself, and he cringes at the tone.

From the entrance hall the apartment opens up into a large living space, decorated with a stylish simplicity that Yuuri had always associated with wealth. Compared to his own place, where the pipes creak loudly and every surface has mug rings, Viktor's is impeccable. The open-plan kitchen connected to the main room is full of noise, and the teen who had let Yuuri in is elbow-deep in suds washing saucepans. A large basket sits on one end of the breakfast bar, and it isn't hard to figure out its contents. Viktor himself is still curiously absent, and Yuuri considers announcing his arrival again (albeit a lot less violently than the teen had).

As if summoned from just the mere thought, the Vila emerges from another room, large blanket folded over one arm. Viktor looks perfectly put together as always, clear excitement and elation on his face making him even more beautiful. Unceremoniously dumping the blanket on the nearest sofa, he approaches to pull Yuuri into a hug.

"I'm so glad you're here! I hope you found the apartment building OK."

"Your apartment building is hard to miss." Yuuri laughs a little. "Sorry if I'm early."

Viktor squeezes him tighter for just a second longer before pulling back. He's warm and solid, and Yuuri revels in it. "Don't worry, you're right on time," Viktor assures him, before turning towards the third person in the apartment. "This is Yuri Plisetsky, the Domovoi I've told you about. Don't let the grumpiness fool you, he cares a lot."

"You wish, old man. I'm here as insurance; if I didn't check on you, you'd probably burn the whole building down trying to turn your stove top on." Viktor pouts at the accusation, but doesn't argue against it. Giving Yuuri a full up-and-down assessment, Yuri narrows green eyes in something like disapproval. "And I guess you're the one this idiot has been chasing around every night."

Yuuri chokes on his surprise, and an inexplicable mix of shame and annoyance washes over him at the teen's words. Viktor wasn't _chasing him around_ anywhere. Rather than let Yuri's crabby behaviour affect him, the Yokai bites back the retort on the tip of his tongue in an attempt to salvage his first impression. He stands a little straighter and offers a small bow of his head. "I'm Yuuri Katsuki; nice to finally meet you, Yuri."

"Ugh, what's the big idea Viktor, he has my name. I don't want anyone thinking you mean _me_ when you're talking about _him_."

"Don't worry, Yura, I doubt anyone could get you two confused," he replies, patting the tall boy on the shoulder in cheeky reassurance. "Plus, I'm sure Yuuri's had that name for far longer than you have, so you really don't have any claim to it."

"They're not exactly the same-" Yuuri tries to compromise, before being cut off sharply by Yuri.

"You think anyone cares about some stupid emphasential difference? Half the people in the city can't even spell their name in Standard."

Viktor's mood snaps to coldness almost immediately, and Yuuri has to suppress a shiver. "Yuri, you should leave if you're just going to be rude - go hang out with your wolf friend or something. Makka's coming with us so you don't need to be here."

"You _know_ Otabek's gone south to see his Mom; plus, without the mutt around I'll finally be able to lounge in peace."

"Well, then go do that then. You don't have to hang around and complain." Green eyes roll before Yuri turns to the large windows in the living area and plops down on the cushioned window seat. Yuuri can't pinpoint the exact moment the shift happened, but a shorthair cat replaces the teenaged boy in just a second, before curling up in the sunshine and promptly shutting his eyes. Viktor just mumbles under his breath in annoyance.

"I'm sorry about that Yuuri, he's a grumpier teen than most. I wish I could say that was unusual, but unfortunately his _lovely_ personality is just something you get used to over time."

"I didn't mean to cause trouble, sorry."

"You're no trouble at all, Yuuri." Before he can add anything more to that, Makkachin sniffs at his hand and licking it when all she finds is long fingers. Viktor lights up immediately, taking her furry muzzle between both hands and squishing her ears around. "Ah Makka, you're ready to go, aren't you?"

Remembering why he's even here in the first place, Yuuri's stomach takes the opportunity to growl loud and long. Wrapping his arms around himself, the Yokai burns in embarrassment, amplified by Viktor chuckling.

"I think that's our cue to stop hanging around here and go have lunch," Viktor says grinning. Still too embarrassed to speak, Yuuri nods his yes and he watches as the other man moves to collect a large basket from the kitchen. One hand holding the basket and the other full of both his keys and Makkachin's leash, Viktor struggles before Yuuri helps to clip the leash to the poodle's collar.

"I wasn't sure if you would like going out when it's so hot out, but today is perfect picnic weather, don't you think?"

Taking the leashed dog and carrying their picnic supplies between the two of them, Viktor directs to where he had planned for their picnic. The Russian is easy as ever to have conversation with, and Yuuri tells him all about his childhood in Hasetsu when he asks - spending his mornings learning to dance from Minako, and the constant busyness of the evenings at the onsen throughout the year. Viktor hangs on every word, even when it's something as menial as remembering the clove smell of Mari's favourite cigarettes, or how warm his mother's katsudon settles in his stomach.

Once the Yokai starts talking about Yuuko, Viktor gets him to open up his camera's gallery and flick through the mishmash of failed selfies until he finds the picture he's looking for - his oldest friend surrounded by her family at eighty years old, still smiling just as brightly as ever. The conversation just continues from there; each photograph accompanied by its own story.

They end up at the same park they had met, and that Yuuri had avoided since the solstice. It's not nearly as bad being confronted with everything the shady greenery reminded him of as it might have been though, because with Viktor right beside him, talking upbeatedly about the White Nights of St Petersburg, it's difficult to focus on anything else.

They find a secluded spot amongst the shade of an old bay tree. The short walk over was enough for Yuuri to start sweating, and he appreciates the drop in temperature under the impressive foliage. The whisper of flora spirits chattering in the branches above makes Yuuri smile, putting him at ease - Phichit had only taught him a little bit of the language of leaves, but he can recognise the friendly tone without needing to know the words.

He helps Viktor spread the blanket out and unpack the food, a mix of plastic containers opening to reveal a feast. The smattering of sunlight that hits the ground through the leaves dances with the wind, and Yuuri is reminded of the bento his mother had made during his childhood.

"I wasn't sure what type of food you'd like, so I asked Yuri to make a bunch of different things to try," Viktor says as he feeds bites of chicken to his dog. "Feel free to eat whatever you like. My favourite are the blini, here, you should try them first."

Humming in appreciation as he eats one of the neatly folded pancakes, Yuuri understands the recommendation. He tries each dish one by one, and readily goes back for more once he's tasted them all.

"There's so much here," Yuuri says, awed. "I can't believe Yuri made all this."

"He wasn't completely kidding when he said it's difficult for me in the kitchen. Don't get the wrong idea," he protests, waving his hands in defence to whatever the Vila thought Yuuri was thinking, "I'm not a bad cook. It's just hard adjusting to a modern kitchen."

That statement piques the Yokai's curiosity of his recent friend once again, and he pushes himself through the hesitation to learn more.

"You mentioned something about a rebirth when you were talking to Minako the other day - sorry, I don't know much about Vila, so I was wondering what you meant."

Thin silver brows raise, at Yuuri's audacity or idiocity, he doesn't know.

"Just as it sounds. Vila aren't bound by life and death, so we can choose to disappear from an era and be reborn in the next." Blue eyes are trained to his hands as Makka eats another bite happily, a sharp contrast to her soft and subdued owner. "I took a longer break than most."

Redirecting attention from himself as he encourages Yuuri to eat more, their picnic is demolished between the three of them. Viktor is charming and open as always as they talk over lunch, but a niggling seed of concern sits at the back of Yuuri's mind despite that. Something about the tightness of the other man's body, despite his carefree attitude, keeps him from dismissing it.

He takes his opportunity when Viktor seems distracted telling a story about his registry officer in St Petersburg having to exasperatedly explain how television worked for the third time.

"Can I ask why? Why you decided to die, I mean."

Unease settles for just a moment before the Vila sighs. Shoulders shrugging, Viktor smiles as he pushes his hair to hook behind an ear. "I wasn't happy with things at the time; I wanted to believe the future would be better. A surprise."

"Is it?"

"In many ways, yes. Other things I find haven't changed at all."

There's a weight to Viktor's words that betrays his age and experience with the world, and Yuuri is captivated. Even melancholy, the Vila is gorgeous, but the dancer is struck with an inexplicable urge to comfort him when he sees the fragility hiding just under the surface of his skin. Their fingers brush when he pats Makka between them.

"You're really brave to have so much hope for the future like that," he starts. Viktor snaps his head up to look straight at Yuuri, and the Hone-Onna feels butterflies in the pit of his stomach at the earnest surprise he sees. "I'm not sure I'd be able to adapt when things have changed so much."

"I think you sell yourself short, Yuuri. You're far more brave than I am, living your life even if you have problems." Blue eyes shimmer like summer seas, despite the shade of the tree they're under, and a slight tilt of the head has Yuuri wildly thinking that Viktor might lean in for a kiss. He can't draw his eyes away from the other's, and once again Yuuri is lost to time with Viktor.

They both jump back when Makka barks unexpectedly at a bird, racing after it with a concerned Viktor giving chase seconds later. The mood from before is gone by the time the Vila jogs back to the remnants of the picnic to retrieve something from his bag, but Yuuri can't complain when he sees that the shaky hesitation in Viktor's earlier expression is gone now.

Makka chases a balding tennis ball that Viktor throws across the grass, and Yuuri laughs at the Russian chasing after his dog when she doesn't bring it back. Eventually both tackle Yuuri to the ground, the impact of the fall cushioned by strong arms that have curled around him. There are plenty of people around, but the Yokai hardly notices the world outside the warmth of his companions; Makkachin licking his face enthusiastically and Viktor rolling to lie beside him on the grass, one arm still partially trapped under Yuuri's back. A long moment of comfortable silence stretches once their laughter settles, only interrupted by Makkachin's snuffling around the nearby trees. The clouds above them move slowly across the sky, shifting.

"I ate so much," Yuuri groans, full but not displeased, as his eyes follow a particularly fluffy cloud. "I can't really afford to usually, considering how easily I put on weight, but it works as a reward after so many extra classes I had to cover."

Viktor hums non-committedly beside him.

"You're perfectly fine how you are Yuuri, even if you gain a bit. There's nothing wrong with extra pudginess."

"That's not true," Yuuri argues back. His hands move to cover his stomach self-consciously where he knows his stretch marks are. "No one wants an overweight dance instructor."

Viktor rolls over quickly at that, face fully covering Yuuri's view of the sky as the Russian leans over him.

"That's not true! Weight doesn't determine talent _or_ personal value, and you're a superbly talented and wonderfully capable person regardless of some arbitrary number, Yuuri." Blue eyes burn like the hottest flame, and Yuuri feels caught, having such sincerity directed at his worries. "That's one of the changes I'll never understand, this obsession with being starvation thin now after so many eras of famine. Plus, having some softness makes it easier to stay close like this." With one arm still stuck under the Yokai, Viktor snuggles into a hug before the summer heat gets unbearable for the both of them and they peel apart. Yuuri still feels the weight and warmth of the other long after he retreats.

They pack up the picnic supplies together before beginning the unpredictable procedure of getting Makkachin back on her leash. The poodle artfully avoids them for the better part of a half hour in protest to leaving the park grounds, aided in the fact both Yuuri and Viktor double over in exertion and laughter at the absurdity five minutes into their chase. The confusing mix of chastisement and praise Viktor gives her once they finally manage to contain her also does nothing to ease Yuuri's amusement, and they both give her stern pats for being so cleverly mischievous.

The walk back to Viktor's apartment seems slower, and Yuuri doesn't know if it's because Viktor is the one sharing interesting and intriguing personal stories, or if the Vila is purposefully prolonging their time together by lingering at store windows and walking at a snail's pace. Inevitably though, the grand entrance to Viktor's apartment building looms ahead. Makkachin stops at all the same places she did on the way to the park, dutifully sniffing for any changes, and the pair seem set on spending as much time as possible in the afternoon sun. Yuuri can't seem to mind the sweat trickling down his neck when Viktor invites him back up to the apartment for air conditioning and a cold drink.

The chilled air washes over them like a wave once Viktor gets his door open, and their furry companion scampers to her water bowl for a long drink before collapsing on the tiled floors of the kitchen. Yuuri wishes he could do the same.

The small cat they had left behind had stretched out in their absence, stomach pressed against the glass of the window. One green eye flicks open, and a disgruntled meow shifts to a groan as Yuri shifts back to his human form.

"Guess I'm gonna make myself scarce if you're back already."

"Huh? You don't have to leave on my account."

The younger Russian gives a strangled choke before pointing his finger down his throat in mock retch. "And third-wheel your gross date? No thanks."

Viktor, hands full with a glass of ice water for both of them, stumbles at Yuri's words, spilling water down his arms and chest. The sodden fabric clings in ways Yuuri can't seem to look away from, and it takes a long second of openly staring before he jumps to help. There's a roll of paper towels sitting beside the sink, and the Yokai rushes for them. The Domovoi just rolls his eyes and takes his leave, slamming the door behind him hard.

Left in the aftermath, Yuuri flails in the awkward silence, both hands filled with paper towels pressed against Viktor's wet shirt. His mind still racing with the adrenaline of a quick reaction, it's only in the quiet that the Yokai has the opportunity to fully comprehend the words that had tripped Viktor up. A fierce blush crawls up to his face, and yet Yuuri can't seem to move his hands. It's only when he flicks his gaze to the other's that he comes to his senses - ripping his hands back like they've been burned, a matching spread of pink across the Vila's face.

"Sorry."

"No, it's OK."

"I should -" Yuuri's not sure how he wants to finish that sentence, and his step back is stopped by Viktor's hands around his wrists. The easy mood of the afternoon is gone, and Yuuri's despaired at the loss, both of them nervous and afraid.

"Please don't." Viktor's voice is barely a whisper in his large apartment, and it keeps Yuuri from moving back any farther. Seeming to search for his words, it's the first time Yuuri has ever seen Viktor struggle with what he wants to say.

"What Yuri said -, I didn't want to -"

It's incredibly endearing, seeing Viktor as nervous as himself, and Yuuri fights the urge to bundle him into a hug in an attempt to assure and soothe the panic. Blue eyes are avoiding his own, but the curl of his shoulders and half-hearted smile are all too familiar behaviours. Seeing Viktor like this halts any of his own nerves before they get the chance to spiral out of control, and Yuuri lets out his own breath before using one hand to guide the Russian's cheek so he's looking at him. There's fragile hesitation bubbling just under the surface, and Yuuri hopes his own tentative smile helps.

"Was what Yuri said right?" One thumb rubs softly against Viktor's cheek where Yuuri has cupped his face. Magic burns low amidst the crealuen of his eyes, and it stokes the small embers of hope Yuuri has been harbouring since their first meeting. "Was today a date?"

"If you didn't… I'm sorry if I misread things. I wanted to ask you for so long, but you were always so busy and I didn't want to just… So when you asked me to lunch, I couldn't help wanting it to be a sign. You're so amazing, Yuuri, so please don't let my stupid rushing wreck things." Stressed, Viktor runs one hand through his hair, mussing it into the most disheveled Yuuri's ever seen. The Vila looks stricken, and Yuuri smiles with a humoured huff.

"It's a yes or no question, Viktor."

"Yes?" The lilt of a question betraying how unsure the other is in Yuuri's potential reaction, even as the Yokai's heart flutters with the confirmation.

Tilting slightly, Yuuri presses his lips to Viktor's cheek, lingering for just a moment before pulling back. Blue eyes are wide, and the Russian looks like he's going to simultaneously swallow his tongue and burst into tears. Yuuri grins wide, feeling much the same way.

"Good."

*

They see each other every day, working around their respective schedules once Yuuri returns to Minako's studio. Viktor attends all of the Yokai's classes he has in the evenings, and days that Yuuri has off, he picks Viktor up from the bookstore. Before he knows it, it's been two months since their first date, and he doesn't quite know where the time has gone.

Their usual dinner together is always followed by a walk home, and sweet good night kisses as they part, warmth thrumming under Yuuri's skin long after they separate. Viktor is a part of Yuuri's everyday routine - from his wakeup calls in the morning, to his final late-night texts, littered with hearts, and Yuuri is happier than he's ever thought possible for himself. He's learning things about Viktor piecemeal as the time they spend together gets longer and longer, and Yuuri has no more of his old fear in sharing things about himself whenever he's asked. Sometimes, when they're curled around each other on the couch or in bed during quiet weekends together, the poisonous barbs of his mind creep in from the shadows in an attempt to overwhelm him once again, but a simple whisper or soft touch from Viktor is enough to scatter them before taking root. Yuuri is flirting with the possibility of being in love for the first time in his life, and every day he stumbles closer to it.

Viktor is perfect: kind, passionate and overwhelmingly genuine with his own emotions. He welcomes Yuuri into his life so completely that the Yokai is just waiting for the other shoe to drop - his life has never worked out this well before. Loving Viktor brings every emotion into sharp relief, and Yuuri feels satisfied in a way he never has before. Life wasn't bad before Viktor, but it's definitely better sharing it with him.

They dance under the moonlight that spills into Viktor's apartment from his large living room windows. They share Yuuri's attempt at his mother's katsudon on the autumn afternoon Viktor gets approved for university classes. They fall asleep on the couch, limbs tangled together, midway through Netflix marathons. Most nights they just talk though, and there's something a little bit magical experiencing the world anew through Viktor, explaining things Yuuri has long taken for granted.

Phichit keeps asking when Yuuri is going to move out to live 'his best life' with his loverboy, especially as the Phi Pa wants to use the bedroom for sheltering his seedlings in the winter. Yuuri laughs it off every time his best friend mentions it, but the sentiment isn't misplaced. He'd love nothing more than to settle into sharing life even further with Viktor, but he's already risked this closeness for far longer than Yuuri ever anticipated.

Yuuri wants to experience this feeling forever, which is why he knows it can't last.

The end of November is disappearing into the night as they celebrate Yuuri's birthday. Two glasses each into the red wine Viktor had paired with dinner, and the Yokai is warm with happiness as they watch the stars spread across the night sky from Viktor's bed, the window protecting them from the frigid bite of winter. The Vila kisses him deep once he finishes his third glass, and the loving sparks that build from the touch are just another reason why this year is the best birthday he's ever had.

"Are you happy, Yuuri? Like this, with me?"

"Of course. I can't believe you have to ask," he answers, somewhat disbelieving. His feelings seem obscenely obvious to himself - enough that Yuuri is acutely worried about how he's affecting the Russian's health - but Viktor surprises him sometimes with how he needs reassurance.

Viktor smiles, nodding his head a little just like he's made a decision.

Another kiss draws Yuuri in, as Viktor traces a hand to flirt with the hem of the Yokai's shirt. Yuuri can't really focus on any specific touch, happy to revel in it all. Rather than slipping into the heady lust that Yuuri is simmering in though, Viktor draws back to give them more space. One hand moves to his pants pocket, pulling out a small jewellry box. The top clicks open, and Yuuri's thoughts grind to a stop.

"What is this?"

"I thought it would be obvious." The gold of the paired rings shines in the low light of the outside lights - they're beautiful, and Yuuri's mind is spinning. The perfect, expectant smile Viktor is wearing flags as Yuuri just stares at the small box for an extended moment, stunned.

"Are you asking me to marry you?" For the first time in months, panic wells up rapidly from the calm. It's everything Yuuri wants, and therefore nothing he can have. The idea of such a huge commitment, of tying the other to him indefinitely, makes him nauseous. Nightmares of being cast out by the amazing man he's with still waiting for an answer run loop in his head. That possibility graduates to one even worse in Yuuri's imagination: watching Viktor fade away on a hospital bed, too kind to save himself from the Hone-Onna.

He can't agree, no matter how much he wants to.

His hesitation sits heavy in the room. Viktor leans forward, nervous. "Will you?"

"No, of course not!" Yuuri cries, desperate and panicking. His voice is probably louder than he intended, but he's having a hard time breathing. "This… I can't agree to this. Don't you see how wrong this is?"

They argue. Tears and raised voices and neither listening to the other's reasoning. Makka hides in her dog bed to avoid the upset, and the rings end up discarded on the ground beside her. Viktor chokes on a sob, and Yuuri can't take any more. It hurts more than Yuuri could have ever imagined, knowing exactly what he's losing when he runs away into the winter-cold streets, but he doesn't stop running to his own apartment despite being barefoot - his shoes forgotten in the foyer in the rush. Salty tears fall steadily and the wind stings. He knows he'll never be forgiven for this; Viktor had looked shattered, his confidence and trust in Yuuri broken beyond repair.

It was over. They were over.

*

Yuuri only knows what day it is because of the class he's running - the 2 p.m. beginner's ballet filled with his regulars. Before their fight ten days ago, Yuuri would have been looking forward to seeing Viktor for the 5:30 p.m. Latin class that follows, but he's acutely aware that isn't going to happen anymore now that they've stopped speaking. The phone calls have finally stopped - the messages still sitting in his inbox unheard.

The Yokai runs his students through each movement as if on autopilot, his mind unwillingly distracted with self-hatred and regrets.

_Arabesque. Second position._

The even measure of the music playing in the current exercise is hypnotizing, and Yuuri allows himself to slip into himself.

_Plié front. Fourth position._

He feels slow and grimy, but Phichit hadn't let him wallow in his room any longer than the first three days, and Yuuri has to thank him for his valiant efforts despite hating having to fake normalcy in front of two-dozen students now. His heart aches with the loss of every part of himself that he had willingly given Viktor, and every cautionary tale of broken hearts echoes endlessly in his mind. Yuuri understands their reasoning now more than he ever had during his decades of purposeful avoidance.

_Rond de jambe à terre. Sec-_

The door to the studio room slams open, kicked in hard enough to rattle the hinges. Startled by the sudden interruption, several people wobble shakily as they lose balance, a few falling to the floor. Yuuri himself jumps violently, head snapping to look at the door, shocked at the interruption of both his class and his depressive spiral of emotion. Standing there seething, Yuri grits his teeth into a deeper scowl once he sees Yuuri at the front of the class.

"Oi, loser!" The Russian teen stomps over purposefully, and Yuuri is cornered against the mirror before he can fully comprehend what he's seeing - the blond grabbing Yuuri's shirt neck and pulling him down, invading his space. Somewhere in the background he can hear Phichit and Sara run up from their own classes at the commotion. The Domovi is unperturbed at the audience.

"You're coming with me and fixing this," he demands, the entire room still shocked silent. Only the repetitive loop of piano over the studio's speakers breaks the silence.

"Excuse me?" Yuuri chokes back.

"You heard me. Let's go." One hand already around his wrist, Yuri starts to pull him to the door. They're almost halfway down the hall before Yuuri plants his feet and mentally shakes off the standstill his brain had gotten caught in. Frowning as he frees his wrist, the Yokai marches them both to the staff offices, away from curious onlookers. Facing Yuri's glare head-on, he crosses his arms against his chest.

"You better have a good reason for interrupting like that."

"Of-fucking-course I do. You broke Viktor and now he's even more useless than usual - you need to come fix him." The Domovoi scowls even deeper, green eyes sharp and dangerous.

Gritting his teeth against the accusation, Yuuri's anger flares, his emotional wounds still raw and bleeding. "I made the right choice, he just doesn't know it. Viktor - He's not the only one who's hurt."

"I don't care the reasoning, or why you two are fighting, I just don't want to be stuck with Viktor's mangy mutt if he decides to just 'stop'." The expected bite in Yuri's voice is missing, betraying how worried he is.

"He can't be that upset." Yuuri's alarm builds at what the other Yuri is implying. A cold fear seizes him so suddenly he feels physically winded. Surely Viktor wouldn't give up his new life so easily. "Viktor still has so much he wants to do and see. He wouldn't."

The Russian just stays silent, green stare burning, and the fearful heaviness curdles in Yuuri's stomach as he starts to doubt his understanding of Viktor. Rather than bristle in annoyance or even more anger, the Domovoi just stuffs his hands in his pockets. "You really don't understand anything about Viktor at all, do you. He's an idiot, but you're just as bad."

It stings, but Yuuri can't muster up an argument against the teen. Yuuri knows his fear of his incapabilities to be in a relationship motivated how he lashed out at Viktor, and if nothing else he wants to apologize for all the cruel things he used as his weak defense. Even if Viktor never wants to see him again, Yuuri needs the Vila to be alright. The Yokai had broken their relationship to protect them both, but he's realising in this moment that he needs, loves, Viktor so completely that life without him really would be worse than death, as the legends say. He can't lose the only person he's loved so fully thanks to a petty argument and his own insecurities. That, more than anything, gives Yuuri the motivation to follow Yuri to Viktor's apartment.

The first thing he notices when they arrive is how wrong the energy feels. It's an intangible crawl under his skin, and the winter chill that has seeped into the apartment makes him shiver. There's an uneasy quiet, and Yuuri follows the teen further into the apartment, his mind whispering traitorous things about being _too late_ and _unwanted_. The possibility that all he would find was a lifeless body, Viktor having already slipped away into the ether of time.

Makkachin whines outside the bedroom - nose pointed to the crack under the door where she lies, ignoring their interruption. It's the best indication that Viktor is in his apartment, and Yuuri's heart breaks a little more at the whole situation. Yuri dumps himself at one end of Viktor's plush sofa, arms crossed, waiting for Yuuri to do something, still hiding his fear behind a scowl. The Yokai approaches the bedroom slowly, knocking softly. There's muffled movement behind the door, the only other sign of life as Makkachin wags her tail. Yuuri knocks again, more insistent.

"Go away, Yura." It's insistent but choked off at the end, and that tone is so foreign to hear in the Vila's voice that Yuuri can't help his sharp inhale. Viktor sounds miserable, just as Yuri had told him earlier, but at least he's alive and talking. The door isn't locked, so the Yokai opens it quietly - Makkachin padding straight to the bedside, an unshapely lump bundled under the blankets.

It's even colder inside the bedroom - nothing like the warm nights they had shared here together before - and Yuuri's breath escapes in a cold cloud as he follows the poodle in. The dog sticks her muzzle straight into the sheets, and a pale hand emerges to stroke along her nose. She sniffs in concern, a high-pitched whine encouraging the hand to move to scratch her ears, the covering blankets shifting enough to expose a pale shoulder.

"Viktor?" Yuuri's voice is barely a whisper, but it's obvious that the Russian has heard him with how rigid his body becomes. The Yokai steps in further with trepidation, like he's coaxing an animal from hiding. Waiting for Viktor to reject him like he should. Instead, the Vila sits up completely, his blue eyes wide like he can't believe Yuuri is here, shivering in the cold.

"Yuuri?" His accent curls around his name like it always does.

Viktor is unwashed and wan-looking, like he hasn't left the bed since their argument, but even more shocking is his hair. Instead of the beautiful long tresses Yuuri had grown to love running his fingers through, the silver hair is cut sharply against Viktor's nape, the longer part in front falling just above one eye. Yuuri wants to wail at the loss, but it's far preferable to the worst situations his mind had conjured up. The small box with both rings sits on the closest bedside table, and Yuuri's stomach does a little flip when he sees it. The Yokai rushes to close the distance between them before he collapses from sheer relief, arms wrapping around the other.

"I'm so happy to see you alive," he says, voice caught on a sob. There's a flicker of hesitation, but in the next moment Viktor is hugging him back.

"I missed you so much, _miliy_. I didn't think you would ever come back," he says, face pressed into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Viktor sniffles a little and Yuuri shifts to give him more space, but rather than withdraw, Viktor clings tighter. "Why are you here?"

"You really worried Yuri," he says, remembering the young Domovoi in the other room. "And me. He came to the studio this afternoon."

"Yuuri, I didn't -" he tries to apologise, but Yuuri quiets him softly, letting his shaking fingers scratch through the short remnants of Viktor's hair. It's a simple touch, but Yuuri revels in it. After experiencing the overwhelming fear of possibly having to deal with Viktor's death and losing him so completely, Yuuri's previous anxieties about rejection feel trivial. He already feels braver talking about this situation, compared to the alternatives.

"I didn't appreciate the abrupt interruption of my class, but I am glad he found me. I don't think either of us knew what we were going to do if… well, if you had already gone."

There's a heavy silence that envelops them, and that's more of an admittance from Viktor than words could ever be. Yuuri hates it.

"Viktor, I don't want you to _ever_ leave this present behind because of me." He has both hands on the Vila's shoulders, making sure Viktor can see the commitment in what he's saying. "Before, I was afraid of hurting you, of sapping the life from you until you couldn't take any more and you cast me out. That's always what happens to Yokai like me when we fall in love, and I was terrified of losing you - and of losing myself to you. Even knowing that my parents are fine and healthy together, that Yokai power has waned over the centuries, that Otherworldlies are immune to the things that trap humans, all I could think about was me being responsible for hurting you. I thought letting you go would be the best for us both, I would save you from my fate."

It feels odd verbalising all the fears he has held close his whole life, but it's also freeing, sharing this part of himself. Taking a long breath, Yuuri gathers the last bit of courage he needs to continue unafraid. Viktor hasn't moved a millimeter.

"I realise now that I wasn't trusting your feelings enough, or my own. I didn't realise it was far too late for that, and that I was ignoring all logic thanks to my fears." Loosening his grip on Viktor's shoulders as he sags forward, he finally breaks eye contact. "It's OK if you can't forgive me, but I will not allow you to just end everything like this, without me apologising."

The cold temperature of the room breaks, an unexpected warmth radiating from Viktor's skin now that Yuuri had finished speaking. The Vila looks close to tears, smiling so gently it hurts. The soft press of lips he touches to Yuuri's is fond and familiar - a deep seated ache soothed in his chest as Viktor prolongs the kiss. It's everything he wanted.

"I always said you were braver than I could ever be, my sweet, wonderful Yuuri."

Viktor slips his legs around so that he's sitting side-by-side with Yuuri, leaning into him as he speaks. "There was no way I could imagine a future without you, but I was afraid of being rejected by you again - it never did make sense why someone as wonderful as you would be with me, after all. I just thought things might be better if I was gone." Viktor's voice is wistful but echoes hope, like he's only now realising everything that's been said. "I'm sorry I made you and Yura worry."

Reaching for the bedside table, Yuuri retrieves what he wants without problem - Viktor's gaze following the movement. The metal is cool where it sits on Yuuri's finger when he puts his on; the other he holds in his opposite hand; a measured weight that doesn't frighten Yuuri any more with its promise.

"We definitely have some communication issues to fix," Yuuri says as he squeezes Viktor's hand, slipping the matching ring onto his finger. He rubs loose circles on the back of the other's hand once the ring is in place, and Yuuri loves the way it looks. His own will never leave his finger. "Lucky for us, we have all the time in the world to figure it out."

 

 

   


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!! This is my first Big Bang, so I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I want to first thank the lovely [JadedGalvenizer](http://jadedgalvanizer.tumblr.com/) and [MustardMouse](https://mustardmouse.tumblr.com/) for their amazing artwork, and their continuous support over this Big Bang. It wouldn't have been half as fun without you!!
> 
> Secondly, I'd also like to thank [adjit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdJiT) for betaing my writing and putting up with me up until the last minute. Your advice and editing suggestions made this fic into the best it could be, and I appreciate all of your hard work.
> 
> Now for some notes:  
> Many of the supernatural creatures in this fic have been used with some creative liberty, but retain a majority of the same features.
> 
> Viktor is a Vila from Slavic folklore. Vila are 'frivolous' and 'incorrigible', and love to laugh, play, sing, dance and fight as their moods suit them. They are 'immortally beautiful' and (in some mythology) have control on their own fate and time. Though they love all animals, they are partial to dogs. It is believed that if even one of their hairs is plucked, a Vila will either die or be forced to change into their true form - this has been debunked in the modern age and many modern-living Vila in this fic's universe cut their hair often (like Mila); as a recently-reborn, Viktor still holds high value to his hair, comparatively. 
> 
> Yuuri is a Hone-Onna, a well-known Japanese yokai. Hone-Onna in folklore are women who retain an undying love that persists long after their death, allowing them to continue to be with the object of their affection. Each night she drains some of her lover’s life force, and he grows ever sicker and weaker. Without intervention, he will eventually die, joining his lover forever in death’s embrace. Within this fic's universe, they are not ghosts of young women, but their own separate entities. Their lifespans are directly connected to that of their love's, so Hone-Onna who fall in love with other yokai or supernatural beings (like Hiroko and Toshiya) are far longer-lived than their counterparts who fall in love with humans. They can die of a broken heart from being cast out or rejected by the one they love.
> 
> Phichit is a Phi Pa, a Thai spirit that lives in the forests. Thai hunters often leave some of their kill to show respect and appease this spirit, and they are often in charge of the growth and health of an area. Phichit keeps a large and varied collection of plants at the apartment as both a reminder of home, and his own spiritual health.
> 
> Minako is a Kitsune, foxes with magical powers. Minako is a good fox, a direct servant of the Shinto deity Inari. More common in legends are wild, occasionally wicked foxes, who delight in mischief, pranks, or evil. Both types of Kitsune are extremely intelligent and very powerful shape-shifters. When startled, or drunk, or careless, occasionally part of their magical disguise can fail, revealing their true nature with a tail, a patch of fur, fangs, etc.
> 
> Chris is something akin to an Alp, an elf from Germanic folklore often attributed with nightmares. Likened to vampires, they often act more akin to incubi. Often shown to be related to elves and fairies, they were originally belived to be kind and friendly, but post-Christian influence changed them to evil and malevolent demons. Chris is a victim of the constant classification shifting, so moved to escape it.
> 
> Yurio is a Domovoi, a protective house spirit. Domovoi maintain peace and order, rewarding households by helping with chores and field work. They can take on the appearance of cats or dogs, or the previous home owner. Yuri dislikes his inherent nature, and wants to do something cooler than protect a house, but often unwittingly helps the people he cares about.
> 
> Sara and Michele are not typical supernatural beings. As the Crispino's are twins - like Rome's founders Romulus and Remus - they are blessed by the Roman Gods. Because of this, they are healthy and live far longer than normal humans. They have been celebrated from birth in their homeland of Italy.
> 
> Toshiya is a Haradashi, a cheerful and agreeable Yokai that enjoys amusing others and cheering people up, especially when drunk.
> 
> Georgi is related (somewhat) to a Baba-Yaga, the witch who may help or hinder those that encounter or seek her out, dependant on her mood. Georgi is a few generations removed, and as such has little luck with his own spells and magic.
> 
> Lilia is a Rusalka, a water nymph or 'mermaid' found in Slavic mythology. She keeps a bauble full of water from her home lake on a necklace to allow her freedom on land.
> 
> Otabek is a descendant of Asena, the mythical mother wolf of the Turkic people. He is strong, level-headed and able to shapeshift.


End file.
